


We Were the Whumpiest

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Crying, Explosion, Fluff, Gen, Hugs, Panic Attack, Past Character Death, Prompt Fic, Stabbing, Stalker, Trapped, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019, canon typical amount of character death, collapsed building, falling, prompt based fic, warnings in each chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-11-09 05:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20848526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: My attempt at an all Dick and Damian centered Whumptober.





	1. Shaky Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Because there's not enough of this duo in the world.
> 
> Some notes: all fics for Whumptober 2019 will be in chapters with the prompt as the title. I'll add warnings and a short summary in the chapter summary and try to update tags as I work. I'm probably not going to hit 31 that's just how it goes, but I might try to make things up if I've missed them. If a prompt is a sequel to another, I'll note it and the chapter number/name. It'll probably get it's own fic if it's long enough. If you've read anything by me you know I'm not the whumpiest of writers, so unless warned things will stay firmly in h/c land.

Titus barked with excitement as he jumped and caught a bright red frisbee a few feet from the ground. Damian clapped and Titus loped over to him, dropping the frisbee in his hands. His prize delivered, the dog scampered off to Dick, who knelt to rub him vigorously behind the ears.

Damian allowed himself a small smile. It was a crisp fall day, the sun bright and warm on his cheeks. Richard was home for the week and Damian was savoring alone time with him before the house filled up and his brother’s attention was split between the rest of the family.

“Ready?” Richard asked.

“Tt, of course.” Damian threw the frisbee to his brother.

They passed it back and forth for a few minutes. It was nice. Normal. Damian was still getting used to calm days like this. Even as long as he’d lived in Gotham there were times he sometimes still felt a tight anxiety in his chest. Like the peace was a facade and any moment something terrible would happen.

Damian had to tamp down that anxiety on bad days and remind himself that things were different. Sometimes he’d distract himself with sketches. Then on other days his pets were helpful. By far, spending time with family was the best way to soothe the worry that dug at him.

A strong breeze caught the frisbee, lifting it up. Damian jumped to catch it, but missed as it was lifted even higher. He watched as it hit the roof of the building. It slid down, and Damian thought it was going to fall off, but it settled on a less sloped portion of the roof and stopped.

“Well that was bad luck.” Dick said, jogging over to look up at the red disc.

Damian scowled up at it, “Indeed. It is not in an easily accessible area, perhaps we should get the ladder?”

Dick laughed, and shook his head, “Nah, I’ve got this. Just watch your big bro climb up there and save the day.”

“Really, it would be safer to get the ladder.”

“But far less fun.” With that, his brother winked at him and moved to the building.

Damian scoffed at him as he started his climb, catching onto a window and bricks, hopping when he didn’t have a close enough hold. Richard looked comfortable with the action, and why shouldn’t he? They did similar often enough on patrol. Still, when there were other options Damian would have rather gone with the safer ones.

He crossed his arms and watched as Dick climbed. There was little reason for Damian to worry, but he’d be happier when Dick was back down. Perhaps he’d suggest they move indoors when the frisbee was retrieved. They could play the new game his brother had brought, or Damian could show him some of the art he had been working on.

His brother reached the roof with no problems. It took only a few steps for Dick to reach the frisbee. He leaned over and scooped it up, hoisting it above his head in triumph.

“Got it!” he said and waved it.

“Excellent. Stop waisting time up there and get down so that we may continue.” Damian said.

Dick nodded, “I’ll toss this down to you first.”

He slipped his leg back, and made like he was about to attempt to throw the frisbee far away instead of simply down into Damian’s waiting hands. Dick tossed it, and the red disc made a perfect arc down to Damian. He caught it and held it up for his brother to see.

Dick gave him a thumbs up, and stood straight again, grinning, “You know we could just play like this. You throw it back up and I throw it down again.”

“Or you could return to the ground like a sensible person.”

This really was getting ridiculous. Damian knew Richard liked heights, but he would not endanger his brother by making him chase after a frisbee on a roof.

“Spoilsport.” Richard said, but there was still a smile on his face.

Dick scurried down the roof towards the edge, arms held out like he was trying to keep his balance. Once or twice he feigned losing his balance, inciting a glare from Damian. The whole time, he was grinning at Damian.

He reached the edge of the roof, and his foot caught in the drainage pipe. Damian watched his brother’s eyes go wide a moment before he tumbled over the edge. Dick grabbed at the drain, and for a moment he hung from it. Damian’s breath caught in his throat, and the frisbee tumbled from his fingers. Dick reached up to grab at the roof. One hand splattered across the tiles, and he pushed to climb back up. With a sound like distant gunshots, the screws holding the drain popped, and a piece of metal flew out towards Damian as the whole thing collapsed in a cacophonous clatter. Dick scrambled for a hold on the roof, but the tile tore out and both went falling after the drain.

Dick had only a moment to catch himself, dropping the drain to tuck into the fall. He landed with a heavy thump and then there was silence. It was as if even the air around them had stopped to wait.

Damian’s feet felt rooted to the ground. He should run over. Should yell or call out or do anything. He felt dumb and stuck. It was as if his voice had been lost in the fall, and his limbs could not yet determine what had happened.

Richard did not fall. It simply did not happen to him. Ever. He was not the type of man to do anything less than gracefully, even if it was something as unplanned as slipping. This was, this was another joke. That thought was quickly wiped away by the way Richard’s eyes had gone wide, and the destruction of the drain. No one would risk Pennyworth’s wrath for something as simple as teasing.

“Richard?” Damian’s voice came out croaked.

No response. His brother had not moved since he’d landed, back to Damian, still slightly curled.

“Richard?” There was an edge of panic to Damian’s voice he could not hide.

At last his feet seemed to pull away from the ground and he was sprinting. He dropped to his knees beside his brother, heart attempting to tear from his chest, hand shaking as he reached out to examine Richard. Damian paused, looking down at his hands. He sucked in air trying his best to calm down, he needed steady hands if something was seriously wrong. Needed to be calm and collected, but--

Titus scrambled over, kicking up dirt to butt his head against Damian’s leg and sniff at Dick. He was obviously worried, about the both of them. Damian swallowed and gently pushed Titus over, “It’s alright.” he said, “Move over there.”

Titus backed up, uncertain, but heeded Damian’s words. Sitting down to watch them both.

Damian turned back to Richard, and his worries seemed to flood back in a wave. Why had Damian thought this day would be good? Or that any day was one worth ignoring the inkling in his chest of something bad. The omens his mind constantly tried to fight. Even here. Even in Gotham, far away from the planned chaos of the League, there was still the uncertainty of accidents.

Damian should have been on his guard. Should have insisted on the ladder or that they just leave it there or gone up himself. Falling was. Damian swallowed. He had let Richard _fall_.

Something caught in his chest and everything was too much. The day turned sour. The way his brother’s eyes had gone wide. The fact that Damian still had done nothing. The fall. Damian was not supposed to let his brother fall. Not supposed to fail him, and he had. Here when he had let himself grow lax and now what if Richard was seriously injured or what if? Damian could not tell if his chest was rising or falling.

He hadn’t even checked, and now he couldn’t breathe himself.

“R-Richard?” Damian tried again, because he had to. His voice was whisper thin laced with uncertainty.

His stupid hands were still shaking, hovering over his brother’s shoulder, wracked with tremors as if he’d pulled them from icy water in the middle of winter. He couldn’t even say a word clearly. Something hot and tight caught in Damian’s throat. He swallowed it down, furious with himself for even wanting to cry. He had not fallen from a roof, and he had no idea what had happened. For all he knew, his brother could have just bumped his head.

Except he hadn’t moved yet. Hadn’t tried to answer Damian. Richard was just lying there. That more than anything stole Damian’s breath and turned the ache in his chest to cold fear, the lump in his throat into something harder to push away. His eyes were hot. He was being selfish. Selfish and stupid to panic and not help. Everything had been fine a minute ago. Everyone had been fine and safe.

“Please.” he whispered, “Please be okay.”

There was a cough, and Richard curled in on himself a little more. Damian could not stop the sob from digging its way out of his throat. He wasn’t even sure if it was from relief or more worry.

It had an effect. Richard jerked, and Damian could hear rasping breathing. His brother groaned, and pushed himself up, turning to face Damian. He had an arm cradled in his lap, and his other wrapped around his chest.

He blinked at Damian for a moment before his face creased with a frown. The rasping breathing had not stopped, and Damian realized it was coming from him, fast and shallow. He clamped his mouth shut and tried to force his brain to slow down. His brother was okay. Mostly. He had no reason to panic.

“Dames, hey.” Dick reached for him and winced, hand freezing in the air.

Damian sucked in a breath. What _was_ wrong with him? He should not be reacting this way.

Dick recovered from whatever had caused him to pause, and cupped Damian’s cheek, “Hey, hey, I’m alright.” his thumb brushed a tear Damian hadn’t realized he’d shed off his face, “Don’t worry.”

“Richard.” Damian’s voice was tiny, “’m sorry.”

The frown deepened, followed by brows knitting, “Why on earth are you apologizing?”

“You are injured.”

“Bruised ribs.” His brother clarified, “Hit the drain when I landed. I think my wrist might be broken. None of that is your fault.”

Only it was. It was all Damian’s fault. He hadn’t been paying attention. Hadn’t focused on the wind or forced Richard to be safer. He hadn’t even moved to catch his brother when he’d fallen. He’d failed on all counts. He’d tricked himself into thinking things were safe when they weren’t.

Damian opened his mouth to make all those points and was stopped by Richard letting go of his cheek and putting a finger over his lips.

“Nope. Not letting you even go there.” Dick said, “You and your dad, you both immediately decide that any accident was your fault.”

The urge to squirm away from his brother and argue was strong but Damian stayed silent. Part of him wanted the absolution. The other part know just how stubborn Richard was about these things, and he’d say his piece no matter what Damian tried to do. It was best to listen.

“This was an accident, and yeah we probably could have done a hundred things different, but what’s done is done, and right now I just want to move onto the part where Alfie tells me I’ve been an idiot and gives me some pain killers.”

Damian deflated a bit at that. He’d had his absolution, but it felt like something was missing.

“Of course. I will help you inside.” he said, it felt a little weird since Dick had yet to move his finger from Damian’s face.

“Hey. I’m not done.”

Damian blinked at that, and pulled away, pushing Dick’s hand down, “You have already told me it is not my fault, and expressed a desire to move on.”

“You’re still upset.”

When had Damian become so easy to read? It was a foolish question to ask himself. Somehow, Richard had always been able to read him. It was one of his many superpowers he denied having.

“Nonsense. I was simply shaken from your fall. I am fine now.” Damian said, clenching his hands that still wanted to tremble.

“Liar.” There was a smile in that word, “It’s okay to be surprised by accidents. You can’t plan for everything you know.”

Damian jerked up at that, mouth agape, “How did you know I was thinking of that?”

Now Richard grinned at him, “I told you, you and your dad are just alike. I can’t tell you how many times he tried to plan for accidents.”

“Tt. We are not that similar.” Damian crossed his arms, his chest was feeling much better. The worry and panic having faded as his brother spoke.

It was strange how well Richard knew him. Damian had once thought no one would know him this well. Not even his mother. He had been trained to hide himself, emotions and all. A leader should not let his weaknesses show. But how could one grow if others could not help pinpoint those places? Damian had learned that much from his family.

He grabbed his arms with his hands, “I let myself feel safe.” he admitted, “And then you got hurt.”

“Aww, kiddo.” Richard pulled Damian close to him, and Damian allowed it, “Do you know how exhausting it would be to try to worry about everything happening all the time?”

“I do.”

This prompted a kiss in his hair. Damian really was being the most selfish of people. Richard had not even stood from where he’d fallen yet.

“It’s okay to feel safe, and it’s okay to be upset by something interrupting that.”

Damian nodded, and then pushed gently away, “It is time we got you inside.”

“I’ll second that.”

Damian helped Dick to his feet and Titus barked, standing himself. He’d been so quiet, watching over them both, that Damian had almost forgot he was there. He reached down and rubbed his ears.

“Good boy.” he said.

Damian stuck fast to his brother’s side as they went indoors. Damian hovered close as Pennyworth lectured Dick over safety, and his wrist was confirmed to be fractured, then wrapped. He ducked out of the way when Tim found them, and repeated Alfred’s lectures on safety. And when he was sure his brother was fine, Damian snuck back upstairs to curl on the couch with his sketchbook in his lap. He would not take up any more of Richard’s time with others, especially after being so needy.

“Hey.” Dick eased himself onto the couch, surprising Damian.

Damian scowled at the smile that spread across his brother’s face.

“Gotcha again.” Dick leaned back into the cushions and sighed, “You disappeared on me earlier.”

“I did not wish to crowd you. Pennyworth and Drake were enough.”

“Right.” Dick’s voice was unbelieving, “You know what the best cure is for a good scare?”

“What?” Damian asked.

Instead of answering, Dick reached out and dragged Damian into his side oofing when Damian landed against his chest. Damian’s instinct was to push away, but his brain reminded him that his brother had hurt his ribs and pushing them would do more harm than good. Damian did not want that guilt on him today.

“Snuggles.” Dick said.

Damian grumbled but shifted so he was more comfortable and putting less pressure on his brother’s injured ribs.

“And before you object, I don’t mean you. Falling is scary and I am in need of some emotional support in the form of a small brother that still fits perfectly snuggled close.”

“Drake is only a few inches taller than me.”

“A good brother would let me snuggle.”

That was an obvious trap. Richard was using Damian’s deflection of Timothy to make him feel like a better sibling. The devious man.

Damian snuggled closer, “Tt. Drake would not be as comforting as I am anyway. He is all bones and angles.”

He did not mind this once, giving into his brother’s obvious trap. He had been so selfish earlier in panicking and needing comfort. He could give back now. And if he felt better for it, well he could allow Richard that win as well. It was the brotherly thing to do after all. 


	2. Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some stuff goes boom, and Damian's around for it. No real warnings I finished this at 3 am. Enjoy!

Damian took his time wandering the aisles of the art supplies store. Pennyworth had other shopping to do, and would not be coming by to pick him up for a while yet. He could browse freely, and linger over specific colors of paint or brushes without worrying that he was taking up too much time for other things.

He turned down the aisle lined with canvases of all shapes and sizes. Damian liked to stretch his own, but Richard had been pestering him to paint together for a while now, and Damian had decided to let him the next time they had time. He had seen his brother’s artistic skills, and a store bought canvas seemed an appropriate learning tool for him. He thought he might pick up a few, that way when the activity came up again he'd be ready and would not have to put it off.   
  
There were some canvases that came in a multi-pack that caught Damian’s eye, they seemed an appropriate size, and with them wrapped in plastic they would be easy to carry. He tucked a pack under his arm, and made for the brushes.

The store was relatively small, not like the huge ones Richard had taken Damian to early on. They’d never had what he really wanted. This one, he’d discovered recently and fallen in love with. He and Father had come across on patrol as thugs had accosted the owner outside the shop. They’d been mobsters, trying to force the man into paying for protection against other scum. Damian had been proud of the owner for standing up against them, and delighted to find the man had excellent taste in art and supplies. He’d been frequenting the place ever since.

At this time of day the store was usually busy, but today it was empty save Damian and the clerk. The night before there’d been a Riddler scare in the area, and the whole block had felt like a ghost town when they’d come down it earlier. Damian didn’t mind, the quiet meant less people bumping into him or asking him where his guardian was. As if he were not perfectly capable of shopping for art supplies on his own.

The moment Damian lifted a brush to examine it’s bristles, his phone rang. He grumbled, settling the brush down and dug in his pocket for his phone. He’d been expecting the display to list Pennyworth’s photo and name, but instead he found Dick's.

“Richard.” Damian said, picking up the call.

“You’ll never guess where I’m at.” Dick skipped over hello’s and moved straight into his reason for calling. Behind him, Damian heard a faint bark, it was familiar enough to draw a small smile to Damian’s face.

“The manor.”

“Okay, so you did guess.”

Damian let himself grin, “Of course, there’s no reason you’d call and ask such a question other than to tell me you were home.”

The word was sweet on Damian’s tongue. He wasn’t sure when the manor had become home, but the certainty of its place was set firmly in his heart. He’d never imagined calling Gotham his home, and when the Penthouse and bunker had felt like home Damian had dreaded living at the manor, but now? Now Damian believed something Richard had once told him about home, that it could be anywhere as long as his family was close by. It was horribly sappy, and he’d never admit it, especially not to Richard. But it was still true.

“B said you were helping Alfred run errands, you think you guys will be back soon?”

Damian hummed, eyes going back to the brushes, perhaps he could get one for his brother, “I am not sure, Pennyworth dropped me off to look at supplies. Do you have any brushes of your own?”

“Brushes? Why would I need a brush?” Richard asked.

“I did not mean hair--” Damian started, but he was cut off as an incredible boom shook the whole building, throwing him forward and into the brushes in question.

Damian had only a moment to duck as the aisles began to topple, falling forward towards him, and scattering paint brushes and shelves everywhere. He dropped to his knees, letting the canvases fall to the floor. His phone dropped from his hand, and Richard’s terrified _Damian’s!_ skittered away from him as the whole store shook again, the first explosion chaining into another and another.

The lights went out in a sudden snap leaving him in complete darkness. He curled in on himself as debris rained down, scattering across his back. Damian hoped the clerk had gotten out before everything started tumbling down, and if not that she was okay.

Everything around him shook for what felt like forever, but couldn’t have been very long. If it had, the building wouldn’t have survived at all, and Damian was not crushed. His ears were ringing, and his head hurt, from the noise and something that had hit the back of his scalp in the explosion.

Damian waited. Miraculously, the walls of the aisle hadn’t hit him, just the shelves and brushes on it. Still, he didn’t want to move and have something in the building shift, fall, and hit him. When the ringing in his ears had mostly faded, he reached up, and found something solid just above him. He followed it with his hand all around, and realized it must have been the wall of the aisle he’d been standing by. It seemed to have caught on something, leaving him what he hoped was a path.

He took a moment to even out his breathing, the air tasted like dust and smoke, thick and gross. His heart was racing, from adrenaline and the terror that came with something exploding around him. Damian pressed his lips together and tried to calm down, he needed to think, and try to get out of here before the whole thing came down on him. There was no telling how long the wall above him would stand. 

The thing he needed to do next was to locate his phone, it would be quite the problem in this mess, but if he could find it, he could tell his brother what had happened. Then Richard would come for him if he was not already on his way. Damian swallowed, Richard was probably terrified for him. He could only imagine his own reaction if their places had been swapped, talking easily and then hearing an explosion. He would be in a panic to reach his brother. 

Damian sucked in a steadying breath and coughed as the dust caught in his throat. He pulled his shirt up, over his nose, and shifted to crawl in the direction of where he remembered his phone sliding off to. When he moved, brushes and pieces of what could have been ceiling or shelves, tumbled from his back.

He moved slowly, picking his way across the mess on the floor and trying to locate the phone by feel. He was happy he’d been by the brushes and not pallet knives or anything sharp or easily shattered. His ears listened for either faint sounds of someone speaking from his phone, or the clerk’s voice. If she was still inside she might be calling for help or to check in on him.

Even as hard as he searched, Damian wasn’t finding the phone. His heart was racing again, his chest tight with fear that he wouldn’t find the phone. Wouldn’t be able to contact Richard, or use it for light or anything. What if he was stuck? Trapped beneath a structure that could fall in on itself at any moment.

Those weren’t the thoughts to have, they’d lead to panic and Damian didn’t need that. He had to stay focused. Father would not panic in this situation. Nor would Richard. They’d work the plan and end up fine. Damian could do the same.

At last his hand hit on something smooth and rectangular. Damian pulled his phone towards him, and sat down. His instinct was to lean back, but he stopped himself, not wanting to dislodge anything. Blindly, he flipped his phone around and found the button that should light the screen. Damian waited a moment, and another, and nothing. No light shone out. He tried holding it up to his ear, and felt the scratchy glass of a screen shattered beyond repair. He couldn’t hear anything from the other end.

Damian bit back a frustrated sob. He hadn’t wanted to admit how much he’d needed to hear Richard’s voice. How lying about how fine he was would have calmed him, or how hearing a promise of “I’m coming, you’ll be fine” was all he really wanted in this moment.

He considered throwing the phone, but pocketed it again instead. He might still find a use for it, and it would be just his luck the thrown phone would knock over the only thing keeping the roof up or something inane like that.

No matter if he was in contact with the others or not, Damian didn’t want to wait around. He wanted out. If there was even the possibility of escape he was willing to explore it. In his mind, he mapped out the store. He’d memorized it on his first trip as a training exercise, left over from the League and made useful as Robin. He figured he was close to the end of the aisle, towards the center of the building. His best bet, would be to turn around and find an outer wall, and work his way towards a door or any opening he could find.

Damian didn’t make it another foot before the building groaned around him and the wall that had been leaning above him gave out a warning screech before collapsing. He panicked, attempting to crawl away from the noise and falling mess, but something heavy hit his legs, making Damian cry out as a crushing weight pinned them to the ground.

The weight settled and Damian attempted to move his legs. One seemed more tightly wedged than the other, and he managed a bit of movement with it. He bit back a yelp as he felt something sharp slice his shin as he moved. He froze, resisting the urge to slip his leg back and do more damage.

Damian swallowed back his frustration. He was stuck. Trapped. He wanted out. Wanted to be home with his family, snuggled on the couch with Titus and a warm blanket. Sketching to the sound of Richard and Timothy teasing each other in the background, and Father adding commentary.

He squeezed his hands into fists and pounded the floor in a fit of anger. None of this should have happened. They’d cleared the block for any traps from Nygma the night before. There was no reason for this building to explode. No reason for Damian to be stuck here, fighting off thoughts of imminent collapse. All he’d wanted was some supplies, and a few canvases so he could paint with his brother. Now he wasn’t sure he’d see him again.

The worst of it was, paint brushes were digging into Damian’s shins and thighs as he was pressed into them under the weight of the partially collapsed wall. It was irritating, the way they poked and dug in, and added to his frustration.

In an attempt to stave off panic he reminded himself that someone was coming for him. He knew Pennyworth was aware of his location. Richard had been on the phone with him during the explosion so knew Damian had been inside when the explosions started. They would of course talk, and someone would come. There was probably already emergency staff on site.

Not having a phone meant Damian had no idea how much time had passed. Especially in the dark. He could feel blood pooling around his leg, not too much he hoped. Were the rubble met his legs, they were throbbing, which Damian figured was a good sign. If they were numb he’d be even more worried. He wiggled them as best as he could from time to time to keep the blood flowing, careful of the injured one, but he could feel the tell tale tingles of them starting to fall asleep.

He heard nothing for the longest time. So long he’d started to worry that maybe no one was actually coming. Then groaning began above Damian again and he tensed, preparing for more weight to drop onto him.

It didn’t, instead, dust began to fall, and then light cracked through the black above him as something was shifted.

A shadow covered the light, and a voice yelled, “Hello!” inside.

“Here!” Damian shouted back, his voice hoarse, “I”m stuck down here!”

He waited a moment, and another, and was at the point where he wanted to yell again, then: “Damian?”

“Richard!” Damian shouted back up.

He heard a, “He’s here!” before Dick turned back down to yell again, “Hold on, kiddo. We’ve got to be careful moving things, but we’ll get you out. What’s your status?”

Damian had to repeat himself a few times, but eventually made it clear that he was stuck and injured (the hint of injury delayed things as Richard insisted on extra safety precautions and worried over Damian longer than was necessary). It took a while, but as they removed more rubble, Damian caught sight of Richard, and eventually heard him without yelling. And then the weight was lifted off his legs at last, and Richard was pulling him away from it all.

The moment he was out from under the rubble, Damian folded himself into his brother’s chest and bit back the sudden sobs of relief building against his throat. Arms wrapped around him in a tight hug that said he wasn’t the only one feeling overwhelmed.

After a moment, Richard pulled away, and looked Damian over, a hand going to push sweaty strands of hair off his forehead. He frowned when he got down to Damian’s leg, still seeping blood.

“It’s just a scratch.” Damian lied.

“It’ll be fine.” Dick said, “It’s not so bad it can’t wait until home.”

Dick hoisted Damian up onto his hip and stood with him. Damian wrapped his arms around his brother’s neck, and leaned into him. From this position he could see how most of the building had collapsed. Just his area, and another towards the opposite end weren’t totally flat.

“Did you find the clerk?” Damian asked.

“She made it out before the whole thing came down.” Dick answered, moving carefully out of the clutter around them.

“The explosion? Does anyone know what started it?” Damian asked, turning his attention to the crew milling around the site. Now that it was clear of people, they didn’t seem to be working quite as carefully.

“The owner said he’d been receiving some threats.”

“From those mobsters?” Damian asked.

“Shh,” Dick smiled, “But yes.”

Damian’s brows knit, “They’ll pay. There’s nowhere else I can find the perfect paints in this city.”

It, of course, wasn’t simply because of that. Damian was upset about being trapped inside, and angry they’d gone so far with threats as to blow the building up. Whatever group this was needed dealing with before they hurt anyone else. He would also see what he could do about helping the owner relocate or rebuild quickly. 

“Save that vengeance for when you’re recovered. I have a feeling you’ll be at least taking the night off.”

“Tt. Alone?” Damian asked, a note of query in his voice.

Dick stepped gently off the rubble and onto the concrete, “I missed all day with you, there’s no way I’ll leave you alone tonight. And you know what? I bet if you give him that wide eyed look I taught you, you can get B to take the night off too.”

Damian let his head fall into Richard’s chest, content now that he was sure things would be fine and he wasn’t facing a night of fighting off memories of collapsing buildings. Away from the building and, as they were moving away from the noise, exhaustion was sweeping over him. 

“Father has gone a while without a break. It would be good for him.”

“Then it’s settled, we’ll have a night in. The three of us. That way I can make sure nothing else falls on you.”

Damian’s eyes were fluttering closed, but he worked up the energy to respond with a quiet, “Thank you for coming for me.”

He felt a light kiss in his hair, “Always, kiddo.”


	3. Human Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for concussions, vomit, blood, and a severe lack of hugs

As far as patrols went, Dick wanted to chalk this one up as bad, really bad in fact. If he had to name it, he’d go with something like The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Patrol. Right now, his head was pounding and he was leaned forward, teeth clenched against the pain of putting pressure on what he was sure were broken ribs, waiting on Robin to finish untying him.

“Any time now, kiddo.” Dick wheezed.

Robin grunted and kept working at the ropes. It was a tough task since neither of them had any tools, and Dick was pretty sure his kid brother was sporting a serious concussion courtesy of one of Two Face’s goons.

Damian tugged at the ropes, pulling Dick’s arms back and making him hiss in pain as his ribs reacted to the movement. Stupid Two Face. Stupid goons. Stupid Dick. This was all his fault after all. If he’d been paying more attention to their location and not attempting to cheer a grumpy Robin, neither of them would be in this mess.

He and Damian hadn’t been out more than half an hour when they’d been ambushed. It had gone from bad to better, and for a minute there, Dick had actually thought they were going to best Two Face’s men. Then he’d taken a bullet to his leg. That had distracted Damian long enough for someone to wallop him over the head with a brick, which distracted Dick long enough to get knocked out himself. It really had been a terrible night.

The ropes loosened at last, dropping from his wrists and Dick pulled his arms around to rest in his lap with a sigh as the pressure of having them behind him was lessened and his chest felt more open.

Dick turned to face Damian, looking him over in the dim lighting of whatever room they were in. He looked rough, his face was pale, and blood dribbled down the side of his face in a long track leading up to a particularly messy spot of blood matted hair on his head. He was surprised the kid had enough sense left in him to get his and Dick’s ropes untied.

“Let me see your leg.” Damian demanded.

He didn’t wait for Dick to move, instead, scooted forward to examine the clean exit wound on Dick’s thigh, sluggishly bleeding. They both tried to ignore the pool spreading around Dick's leg. Damian frowned at it, and unclipped his cape.

“We can at least wrap it.” he said.

Together they set to wrapping the injury and tying off the cape on Dick’s leg. He wasn’t going to be walking easily on it, but now he wouldn’t bleed out, maybe, hopefully. When Damian finished, he leaned forward, into Dick’s chest, careful not to flop and cause more pain. Dick wrapped an arm around his back and squeezed.

“We’ll be alright.” he said, “I turned on my distress beacon when things started going sideways, and it's still right here."

Dick tugged the underside of one of his sleeves up, and showed Damian the little red light as it blinked, "B’ll come.” he promised.

Damian huffed into his chest and pulled back. “I am going to scout the room and see if there is any way out.”

He pushed himself to his feet and wobbled for a moment. Dick watched him clench his fists, and take a few steadying breaths in and out. He wanted to pull Damian back down and ask him to rest, but he also understood the desire to do something. No bat wanted to sit around and wait for their captors to make the next move.

Instead of telling Damian to rest, Dick watched him with a wary eye as he wandered the room. He was looking for any signs Damian was hurt worse than his head injury, but it seemed like other than a few bruises he was better off than Dick.

“There is a window.” Damian said, narrating his examination, most likely for both their sakes. His head had to be hurting worse than Dick’s, so the verbal explanation was probably to help him focus and in case he forgot anything.

“It does not seem to be too high to reach with the help of something to stand on.” Damian continued, “The door is bolted firmly and there do not seem to be any other exits.”

“The window it is then.” Dick said, “Maybe there’s something in one of the boxes that can help?”

The room looked like it was used for storage, with a large number of boxes piled against a wall, and some shelving units stacked in the other. There really wasn’t a lot of room for Dick and Damian in the space, but enough that Damian or Dick could stretch his legs while looking around.

“Oh.” Damian said, pointing up, “There is also a camera and speaker.”

“I guess they’re not too bothered by us being untied.” Dick frowned.

That was troubling, if they were watching them they should have reacted to Damian untying them both. Unless they didn’t plan on coming back into the room. Or they simply assumed he and Damian were too injured to react well. Or they had worse plans for them. None of it was encouraging, especially the thought of them not planning on returning.

Damian made his way over to the boxes, “Most are taped closed, and they are heavy.” he grunted as he attempted to move one, “I will see if it is sturdy, and then start moving them to the window.”

Dick held his breath as Damian climbed up onto the box. It took him a few tries, his first he had to stop, and catch his breath, leaning against the box. His second, he slipped, and fell with a thump and a frustrated cry. On his third he managed to climb atop it and stand. He should have said something or cheered, but his shoulders went rigid.

“What?” Dick asked, a cold feeling settling in his stomach.

When Damian did not answer Dick repeated himself, “Robin, what is it?”

“A bomb.” Damian’s voice was tiny, but in the small room it was easy to hear.

At the word, Dick had to swallow back his own fear. Damian’s hesitation and tone spoke more than his words did. It was counting down. Dick knew it before his brother said another word.

“The timer is set for a minute.”

“Then move.” Dick said, his own heart racing, “Drag that box over to the window and let’s get out of here.”

Damian did as Dick asked, rushing to shove the box over to the wall. Dick watched him stumble once, falling against the box with an oof.

Dick tried to push himself to his feet to help, and his whole world tilted, his vision swam before his eyes and the next second he was looking at Damian sideways, his head pounding harder than before.

"Nightwing!" Damian stopped, turning to look over at him. He looked like he was going to bolt for Dick any second.

"Keep going, 'm fine." Dick said, his words slurring a bit. He must be losing more blood than either of them had realized, or he'd lost more while out than they'd thought to check for.

Damian bit his lower lip, hesitating.

"You gotta go, kiddo. We don't have time to wait." Dick urged.

His brother nodded and shoved the box again, finally getting it over to the wall. He scrambled up to stand atop it, and reached for the window. For a moment Dick was afraid he'd still be too short to reach it, but his hands reached the frame easily. For a few seconds Dick waited, breath held, hoping Damian could get the window open. One. Two. Three. Dick wasn't sure where the bomb timer was at yet, but he needed to get moving himself if they were both going to make it out of there.

He pushed himself up from where he was laying, head swimming again with the movement. Air seemed to rush past his ears, roaring like he'd shoved two conch shells up against them. It was this noise that made him miss whatever Damian said, that and his double vision screwing with what he could see.

Damian had turned to look at him, face paler than before, the window was open, but Damian hadn't climbed out it yet. He seemed to realize Dick had missed what he said, because his brows knit together and he nodded, as if he'd decided something.

Then he hopped off the box and ran for Dick.

"What are you doing?" Dick asked, his stomach dropping.

He didn't really need to ask, he knew exactly what Damian was doing. What his brave, heroic, baby brother was attempting.

"You will not make it out in time." Damian said, tone matter-o-fact, as he rushed past Dick to the shelving units stacked high, "And I will not leave you."

Dick watched as Damian grabbed one and dragged it over to where he was sitting. He set the unit up to stand like a makeshift barrier between them and the bomb, then he threw himself over Dick, and pushed him down, making him into an almost ball, where Dick's head was shoved into his lap. He couldn't breathe against all the pressure on his ribs now, but still Dick tried to push at him, and pull his hands away. Damian's grip felt like iron, fingers digging in with such force he might has well have sunk claws in.

"Robin you need to go. There's still time, you can get out. Please, just get out." Dick plead, voice barely there.

This was insane, Dick couldn't let Damian shield him. He was the big brother. He was supposed to be the one wrapped tightly around his baby brother to protect him from the blast. This was all backwards. Dick wanted to shove at Damian again, or force him to let himself be protected but they didn't have time. The clock was almost out, Dick knew it, and Damian did too. This was how it was going to be.

"I said, I will not leave you." Damian's voice held the same iron his grip did.

Dick didn't have time to argue further. The bomb went off with a deafening boom. The shelf, and then Damian were shoved into him, and Dick was flying, until his back connected with the wall behind him. His head crashed into it next and his vision fled a moment before his awareness did.

When he came to, he was laying on the ground. He'd thought his head had hurt before, now it felt like someone had taken a nail and hammer to it. His stomach heaved, and Dick had just enough time to roll over, and push himself up on his palms. He retched, emptying out the contents of his stomach in heaving waves as his head spun worse and worse. His chest felt like it was on fire with all the movement. He couldn't even feel his leg at this point.

When his stomach stopped, and his vision cleared as well as it would, Dick sat back on his heels. Damian. Where was Damian? He should have been right there, should have landed on top of Dick. He could hardly see anything, the explosion had knocked out the light above them, leaving the room dimmer than before. All that was illuminating them was the streetlamp outside.

"Da--Robin!" Dick shouted, his voice hoarse against the smoke billowing around the room and the pain in his chest, "Robin answer me!"

Everything was dark blobs. The remains of the shelves and boxes, everything had been scattered. Dick knew he couldn't stand. Not with the concussion and his leg, or his chest, so he crawled forward, hands reaching as he searched for his little brother.

"Robin, please." he rasped.

His heart was racing and his leg throbbed with each movement, but he needed to find his baby brother. At last, he caught fabric, loose under his palm. Dick hurried forward, finding Damian curled in on himself.

From what he could feel, Damian's uniform was tattered, shredded in the explosion. Dick tore a glove off his hand so he could take stock of his brother's injuries by feel rather than sight. His was too fuzzy to trust in this lighting. Damian's back was a mess, the barest of touches told him of blood and burnt skin, and what had to be small pieces of the shelving unit scattered across his skin. At his touch, Damian jerked, and let out a strangled cry. Dick pulled his hand back as fast as he could.

"Hey, Robin." he tried.

His brother didn't respond. Dick crawled around to his front and sat down beside him, Damian had his arms wrapped around his middle, and his legs curled back up protectively. Dick reached out to cup his face, and turn it towards the light. The blood that had been dripping earlier was worse now, Damian's face was awash with the stuff, indicating a new head injury, or the old one made worse. A torn mask showed one eye clearly, squeezed shut.

He swallowed back the sick in his stomach and brushed Damian's hair back, looking for more head injuries. Damian must have been tossed away with the blast, and come to a rolling stop. Dick didn't find anything beyond that first lump. He shifted to checking the kid's pulse, that at least was steady for the moment. Dick sighed with relief, and tugged Damian up into his lap.

"It's alright." he whispered, "We're going to be fine. B's coming. He's got to be coming by now, and when he finds us--" Dick leaned down and kissed Damian's forehead, "He'll get us both home safe and sound."

Behind him, Dick heard the lock on the door slide back with a click. He wrapped his arms tighter around Damian as the door opened, and prayed it was Bruce coming inside.


	4. Gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct sequel to Human Shield, picking up from Damian's POV, hop back over to chapter 3 for context. 
> 
> Warnings: all those hugs we missed last fi, and some descriptions of pain and blood

The sound of the door opening was distant, even though Damian knew it wasn’t that far away. His hearing wasn’t right, everything was muffled, even Richard’s voice as close to him as it was. He felt his brother tug him closer in his lap, but kept his eyes squeezed closed as his world felt like it was rocking. His head hurt so bad, everything else as well, it was simply that his head was the most demanding right now. 

All Damian cared about was the fact that Richard was well enough to talk, worry over him, and pull him close. His brother was alive. He wasn’t so hurt he couldn’t move, and for that Damian was thankful. His decision to protect his brother had been right. No matter how angry Richard was with him over it, he’d been right. 

“Told ya at least one of them would survive.” The voice was gruff, and a little victorious.

Damian felt sick, and squeezed his eyes a bit tighter, sparking a sharp pain in his forehead. He’d hoped Father would be here already, and not more trouble. Where was he?

Dick leaned close and murmured in his ear, “Don’t move. Act dead, okay.” 

There wasn’t really time to argue as Damian felt Dick be lifted up. He stayed quiet, letting his body flop to the ground as Dick was pulled away from him, and the support of his lap disappeared. He heard his brother his in pain as weight was put on his injured leg. Damian wanted to tell them to leave him alone, hadn’t they done enough already?

“Check the other one.” Damian heard from above him, “Two Face wants ‘em both if they’re alive.” 

“Always with the pairs.” a new voice chimed in, coming closer.

Damian held his breath, and stayed still. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, to be dragged away with Richard or left in this room? He didn’t want to lose his brother, but everything hurt so much. His back burned, and his body ached. He wished he could stay curled here until he felt better. 

“You decided to hench for him.” The first man said. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Only because I was tired of the cold, Freeze might pay well but there’s only so many days your teeth can chatter before you feel like they’re gonna crack.” 

A rough hand pulled his hair, to drag his face up from where it was tucked, and Damian couldn’t help but yelp as more pain lanced through his head. The man tutted, and an arm wrapped around his middle. Damian bit back another cry as his back protested the way he was hauled up, and tucked into a side. 

He opened his eyes to try to find Dick. His brother’s captor had one of his arms pulled behind him, but Dick didn’t seem too bothered by it, his attention was all on Damian. It made guilt pool in Damian’s stomach, if he’d been quieter no one would be worried about him. If he’d been a little faster getting Dick untied maybe they’d both be safe and not hurt worse. 

“Sorry.” he whispered. 

“It’s okay.” Dick said. 

“Come on then, we don’t want to keep Two Face waiting.” The man holding Damian said. 

They left the room, the man holding Dick shoving him forward, with the one carrying Damian following. Damian wanted to fight, to squirm and bite and do whatever he could to get away, but he didn’t have the energy for much. The arm that was holding him was pressed painfully against a burnt patch of skin, and each step seemed to shake something else in him that ached. He wanted to cry, everything hurt so badly. 

Richard wasn’t in much better shape, from here Damian could see the blood running down his brother’s leg as he limped forward. He knew his head couldn’t be feeling much better than his own. Damian squeezed his eyes shut against hot frustration,  _ where was Father? _

The hallway opened into a larger room that it seemed the men were intent on pushing them through. They’d hardly made it far at all when one of the sets of doors blew off its hinges with a crash. Damian opened his eyes to see a dark figure stalk through the smoke flowing out of the opening. 

He had a second to figure out just who it was arriving, before the man carrying him dragged him up against his chest. Damian gasped as his back was pressed against rough fabric, he kicked at the man, as weak as it was before cold metal pressed against his scalp stopped him. 

“No.” he heard Dick say, and flicked his eyes over to his brother, pulling against his captor’s hold. 

Then Damian was being pulled back as the man holding him stammered out some nonsense about keeping away. His attention moved back to the figure, Batman. Even with the gun against his head, Damian’s heart fluttered with happiness. Father was here, and he looked furious. 

Richard made himself a menace, fighting with the man holding him, and causing enough of a distraction Father could make a line for Damian. Damian didn’t fight yet. He had one chance to create his own form of a distraction to help Father, and he needed to not waste it. There was so much going on, Damian tuned out Richard and the babbling man in his ear, instead focusing on Father’s face. 

When Father nodded Damian bit down on the man’s arm as hard as he could. The man yelled, and dropped him. He thought he’d prepared himself for impact with the floor, but when he landed something in his back dug in and his vision went white. A foot kicked out at him, catching another painful spot making Damian scream before blacking out. 

He woke draped over Father’s back with an arm under him. He glanced over to find Richard leaning against Father as they made their way out of the room. His brother shot him a wobbly smile and Damian let his eyes drift close again. 

The next time he came to he was in the cool of the cave, Father was fussing over him as Pennyworth spoke with Richard. Father gave him a small smile. 

“Feeling better?” 

Damian buried his face in the pillow under his head, “Yeah.” he answered, voice muffled, he wasn’t feeling much better yet, but he couldn’t find it in him to say no. 

His cheeks were hot with embarrassment. He’d passed out in the middle of a fight. He could have gotten himself or any of his family killed doing that. He hadn’t even been able to successfully get out of the way and keep himself safe or give Father a clear path to the thug.

“Sorry.” he mumbled. 

A hand cupped his cheek and tilted his face up. Instead of speaking right away, Father leaned down and pressed a kiss against Damian’s forehead, “You have nothing to be sorry about, son.” 

Damian let himself drift again after that, settling in as Father worked on patching him up. It was easy to relax with Father close. Damian wouldn’t have to take care of himself all on his own, he had Father and Pennyworth here, and Richard close. They were safe. 

The third time he woke, he was curled into Richard’s side. Damian knew it was his brother before he’d even opened his eyes. He could smell the scent of Dick’s favorite shampoo, and felt the fabric of his favorite ‘sick day’ tee shirt, unbelievably soft and loose. He bet Richard had bugged both Father and Pennyworth until they’d allowed him to snuggle close. 

He’d heard him earlier, but there was something relieving about being in contact with the brother he’d been worried about earlier. Damian couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d almost lost him. He’d been so close to never seeing Richard again. But they were home and safe and no one had died. 

Damian opened his eyes and found Dick was looking down at him with an inquisitive gaze.

“Hey, Kiddo.” his voice was tired.

“Are you okay?” Damian asked, jumping right into the issue. Safe they might be, but Damian wanted to know how his brother was feeling. 

Dick’s hand found his hair, and brushed it back, “Yeah.” 

Damian locked eyes with Dick to examine him for lies. “You sure?” 

This brought a smile to his face, “Yes.” Richard leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Damian’s, “I’m okay because of you. It’s you I should be making sure is feeling alright.” 

“I’m fine.” Damian told him, wiggling away from the contact to look at his brother’s shoulder.

Dick poked him in the chest, “Don’t lie.” 

“I no longer feel like I am dying.” Damian amended. 

Dick chuckled lightly at that and rolled over so he could tug Damian close. His tug was gentle, more like a nudge that prompted Damian to scoot forward. He did so, burrowing into his brother’s chest until he got a light oof that reminded him they were both beat up. 

He loosened his hold slightly and let his head rest against Richard’s shoulder, sighing with contentment. He was still sleepy, this time he figured it was less to do with exhaustion or pain and more to do with medication. His back didn’t feel on fire with every movement and his head wasn’t throbbing anymore, so Pennyworth or Father must have given him something. 

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Damian said. 

Richard pulled one of Damian’s hands away and tangled their fingers together, lifting it to press a light kiss to his knuckles, “Promise me something.” he said. 

“Hm?” Damian asked. 

“Never ever put yourself in front of me like that again. You get the chance to run, you do it, okay?” Dick squeezed his hand, “I couldn’t live with myself if you died saving me.” 

“I will be more careful.” Damian said, “I cannot promise I won’t protect you, but I’ll do better to avoid the situation happening.” 

“I guess that’s the best I could ask for.” Dick said. 

Damian nuzzled his face closer to him, “Yes, it is.” 


	5. Alt no 6: Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: stalker, knife, panic attack  
This is an alternate for prompt 7: Isolation because I couldn't think of anything I really wanted to do lol   
No editing we die like mne

Dick was delighted. Not only had he managed to get Damian out of the manor for an impromptu day out, but there was a fair in town and it hadn’t attracted a single costumed nut job in the week it had been open. That was a victory for any type of themed event in Gotham, and Dick was ready to get his fill of fun before things eventually turned crazy.

“What do you want to do first?” he asked Damian as they stepped inside, a wad of red tickets in hand paid for by a Dick and Damian patented puppy dog eye attack against Bruce’s wallet. Bruce could hardly deny Dick when he did it, now that he’d taught Damian they were an unstoppable team.

“You said there was a petting zoo.” Damian side eyed him, “We should go before the sun is so high they all wish to hide in the shade.”

“Good idea.” Dick said, and let Damian lead the way.

After the petting zoo (which Damian deemed acceptable) they rode a few rides, examined butter sculptures, and watched a man swallow swords. At that, Damian’s eyes went wide and he would not stop pestering Dick for the secret of it afterwards. The only thing to distract him from his quest for knowledge was the man who called out to them from a games booth as they passed.

“Try your aim! Prove you’re the best of the best!”

Damian hesitated and leaned to look over the man’s booth. He had a bunch of dart boards set up in pairs. He caught onto Damian’s interest immediately, grinning at the boy.

“Would you and your father like a try?”

Dick bit back a grin as Damian scowled at the man, “He is my brother.” he puffed up, like a bird attempting to make himself bigger and more intimidating, “My father is Bruce Wayne.”

Damian shouldn’t have boasted, but Dick could understand it was less a boast and more a child proud of his parent. He’d come a long way from the boy who based his whole identity on who his parents were. He loved his family, and was proud of them all. Dick could feel that pride in his defense of him as a brother, and declaration of his dad.

“We’ll play a round.” Dick said, handing over the required tickets, “Dames you know how it works?”

“Tt. Of course.”

They ended up playing three rounds, because Dick won the first (having experience with carnival games) and Damian insisted on trying again, and then when he won, breaking the tie with a third round.

They walked away with Damian proudly toting a large stuffed elephant almost as big as he was. Dick had never expected his little brother to be so excited to own a stuffed animal. He did take a hundred pictures, all of which Damian demanded he delete. Dick did not, and uploaded them to his cloud just in case his brother got a hold of his phone.

Lunch was a large turkey leg for Dick, and spiraled potatoes coated in cheese and chives for Damian. Then, when Dick learned Damian had never had a funnel cake before, they polished off two together, coated in powdered sugar and chocolate.

After, they walked around an art exhibit put on by local high schools on display. Damian spent a long time on each piece, examining it, and noting praiseworthy parts of each, and when an artist was present, stopped to discuss the piece with them.

Dick loved watching his brother interact with something he loved, but he was distracted. Since the dart game there’d been a man on his periphery that continued to be too close for comfort. Dick had assumed they were simply on their way to the same thing at first, but it had been over an hour now and still the man was always there. It was clear he had an interest in them, and one that was most likely not great.

He let Damian finish exploring the art, and then pulled him close in a hug bending to say, “Keep close, and follow me.”

Damian did not seem surprised, by Dick’s warning. He changed which arm was holding the elephant, effectively blocking their faces from the stalker and said, “You saw him too.”

Dick nodded, “Here’s what we’ll do. Make like we’re going to the haunted house, and then we’ll dart for the house of mirrors across from it. Hopefully in the lines and confusion we’ll lose him.”

Together they moved over to the haunted house line, and even paid tickets to go in. The stalker was close behind them and ended up in the same group entering. The moment they were inside, Dick tugged on the arm of one of the staff to get his attention.

“I’m sorry, but we have to go, my kid brother is feeling sick.”

Damian did his best to look wide eyed and uncomfortable, throwing his hands over his stomach. It was enough to get them escorted right back out while the group continued ahead.

Once out, they darted for the house of mirrors, whose line was nonexistent. It seemed like fewer people were interested in seeing themselves than getting spooked. Dick would have rather gone through the haunted house, but that wasn’t the point this time.

They ducked inside, and moved into the maze for a bit before stopping to look around. Dick swore when he saw the reflection of the same man who’d been following them. His face was screwed up in a scowl, and while Dick watched he slipped a large knife out from where it was hidden in the back of his pants.

Damian’s eyes widened in real surprise this time. Dick tugged him close to his side, grabbing Damian’s hand. His brother moved to jerk away from hand holding, and stopped as Dick squeezed.

“It’s not because you’re a kid,” he explained, “I need you close, it’s easy to get lost in the reflections.”

This seemed to soothe Damian’s momentary irritation and he nodded, “Are we going out the front?”

Dick shook his head, “There’s always a back door, we find it first and leave this guy in here, then get security involved.”

Together he and Damian moved through the house of mirrors, very so often running into a mirror and coming close to the man following them. Dick’s goal at this point was just keep moving.

When the man suddenly came around the corner, Dick jerked back, shoving Damian behind him. A sharp grin cut the guy’s face, and he tossed the knife in his hand, flipping it.

“Hello there.”

“Goodbye.” Dick said.

He turned Damian and pushed him forward, back the way they came. His brother started running, and Dick followed. Behind him he could hear heavy footsteps slapping the ground as the man gave chase.

As he turned a corner Dick slipped stumbling into a mirror with a thunk that reverberated in a hollow plastic jigging noise. He rubbed at the aching spot on his forehead and scrambled back to his feet. Damian was gone from his vision, continuing forward. He swore under his breath, and searched wildly for Damian.

Every so often he saw the kid ahead of him, but he also kept seeing glances of their attacker. This house of mirrors had been a bad idea. Letting go of Damian had been a worse one. Dick hurried faster, his heart pounding not from the exertion, but worry.

Finally, he saw the opening and bolted out of it. If Damian had been ahead of him, and not got turned around again, that meant he’d also be exiting soon. Dick could still hear footsteps behind him, closer than he cared to have them.

He kept going, until he finally scrambled outside the front entrance back into the light. The guy who’d taken their tickets stumbled back, surprised.

“What the?” he asked.

“There’s a creep following me, he’s got a knife. Call security!”

The moment Dick got the words out of his mouth he spun to face the man. He came running out, knife held high. Dick ducked a swipe and slammed his fist into the man’s stomach smiling as he heard a shocked oof.

He pulled back and punched the man in the jaw, hearing the satisfying sound of metal clanging onto concrete as he dropped the knife and stumbled back, stunned. Dick stepped back just in time to hear, “Police! Stop!”

Dick shot the man a grin as officers converged on him. He stepped back and looked around for Damian. His brother should be out here, but he didn’t see the kid or his large stuffed elephant anywhere.

“Dames?” Dick asked, then when he didn’t get a response, hurried over to the guy who’d been at the entrance, “Did a kid, about thirteen, come out of here right before me?”

The guy shook his head, “Sorry, just you. I missed anyone else calling security.”

Dick spun on the man as he was being handcuffed, storming over to him, his anger flaring up, “Where is he?” he demanded of the would be attacker, “Where’s my brother?”

He received a toothy grin in response. Dick reached out and grabbed him by his collar, “Tell me!” Dick snapped.

“Sir.” one of the officers tried, but Dick ignored him.

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Brats probably still running around all terrified in there.” the man spat.

Looking in his eyes, Dick knew he wasn’t lying. He dropped him and stepped back,

“If anything happened to Damian I swear, you’ll pay for it.” he said, then turned to hurry back into the attraction.

It was just as confusing going back in than it had been trying to get out. It didn’t help that Dick’s heart was in his throat over his brother. He’d left Damian inside, and as capable as he was, they’d both been in a flurry of worry inside. He was kicking himself again over even thinking of bringing Damian inside.

“Damian!” Dick shouted, “Answer me!”

He turned, and turned again, running down a whole tunnel of mirrors he didn’t remember going down earlier. At the end, he burst out into a room filled with towering mirrors. He could see himself dragged up in them. Pulled to some kind of grotesque huge version of himself.

Curled at the center of the room, with his elephant squeezed so tight in his arms Dick thought the head might pop off, was Damian. His whole body was shaking. The moment Dick stilled, he could hear high whines coming off his brother, and the way his breath came out and in in panicked bursts.

Dick put two and two together right away. Damian was already on high alert being chased by a guy with a knife, then to come in here, and see a twisted version of himself towering over him? It had to have triggered memories of his death. Of Heretic advancing upon him from all sides.

He dropped to his knees in front of his brother, unsure where to start. Damian was so tightly wrapped around the toy and himself he looked a bit like a porcupine rolled to protect itself.

As gently as he could, Dick reached out and rubbed Damian’s back, “Damian? Hey, it’s Dick.”

Damian flinched, and jerked back, opening a bit from his protective curl. He scrambled until he hit a mirror, the elephant now clutched to his chest.

“Damian,” Dick’s voice was gentle, and quiet, he didn’t move from where he was so he didn’t startle his brother again. “You’re safe sweetheart, hear me?”

His brother’s chest was still rising and falling with rapid breaths, the elephant moving along with it as Damian’s arms were wrapped around it, knuckles so tight they were white. Damian scooted so he was sitting up against the mirror and kept looking up, above Dick.

“Hey, hey. Look down here. Look at me, Dames.” Dick said, raising up a bit on his heels to further prevent Damian seeing his reflection.

Damian’s eyes flickered down at him, blinking.

Dick smiled, “There you go, I’m going to move to you now, okay? You just keep your eyes on me.”

He inched forward until he was close enough to easily tug Damian close, but he didn’t touch him yet. Instead he held his arms out and open, “Come here?”

It took Damian a moment to decide what he wanted to do, then he dove forward into Dick’s arms. Dick pulled him close, tucking his face into his shoulder so he couldn’t look at the mirrors around them. He pressed a hand into the back of his head and leaned down to plant a kiss in his hair.

“There you go.” he soothed, “You’re safe, I’m here. No one’s coming for either of us anymore.”

Damian wasn’t crying, but still shaking as he rested in Dick’s arms. Dick kept one hand against his head to keep him close, and used his other to rub his brother’s back in small circles. While Damian calmed down, Dick whispered soothing nothings to him, gentle words that were soft and rumbly, but nothing his brother had to focus too much on.

At last, Damian settled down, his shaking dissipating with a deep shuddering breath. He kept his face against Dick’s shoulder but threw and arm around Dick’s neck.

Dick scooped him up into his arms and stood, carrying him back out of the room and the hall of mirrors. He gave him a little squeeze when they got outside.

“You can look now.”

Damian pulled his head up and blinked at Dick, “Thanks.” he said, wiggling a bit in Dick’s hold, “I’m okay.”

“You found him.” it was the guy running the hall, “That’s great.”

He looked them both over relieved, “The police want a statement before you leave. You can find them at the entrance. Do you need me to show you up there?”

Dick shook his head, “We can find them. Thanks.”

He set Damian down, hands still close in case his brother needed him. Damian seemed fine though, much calmer after his scare. He stayed close to Dick’s side, and found his hand with his own, not looking up at Dick when he took it.

“Here’s what we do.” Dick said, squeezing his hand, “Statement, then some ice cream. Agreed?”

Damian looked up at him and nodded, “And then perhaps we can return to the petting zoo?”

“We can spend the rest of the day there if you want to.” Dick promised.


	6. Stab Wound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Me actually posting a proper prompt on the day it's due? It's true. 
> 
> Warnings: blood, stab wound, broken bones

“Stick close, Robin.” Nightwing said, a moment before he leapt off the roof to soar down to the street below.

“As if I wouldn’t.” Damian said, to the wind and followed.

Damian would not say he was delighted to have the chance to patrol with Nightwing, but he was certainly happy about it. He let that happiness translate into a smile across his face as he allowed himself to fall freely through the air, then shoot his grapple to catch himself in a neat arc.

“Having fun?” Dick asked, as Damian landed beside him.

Damian shrugged, but didn’t bother wiping his smile away, “It has been a productive night, and we are almost through.”

“Thinking of bed then?”

He shook his head, “I believe I was promised sweet potato fries and milkshakes to dunk them in.”

At that, Dick grinned, “That you were. Alright, one more block then we’ll pay old Frankie a visit. He’ll be delighted to see Robin again, he keeps asking when you’ll come to visit again.”

Damian hid a light blush with a scoff. It was still a strange feeling, having people who were not his family or close friends excited to see him, or happy to have him around. Especially people Damian had done little to help. He had not saved Frankie’s 24 Hour Diner from any great catastrophe, only spent a long night helping him care for his dog Alice as she gave birth to a litter of puppies in the store.

Frankie had kept him up to date on how the puppies and Alice were faring, whenever Damian managed to visit so he could learn who adopted which once they were old enough to go to families. Frankie had kept the runt of the litter for his own, a little scampering pup Damian was excited to see when he visited again.

“A good plan.” Damian agreed.

The block they were patrolling was broken up with a high pitched scream of terror. Damian and Dick both bolted in the direction of the sound, searching until they found a woman, swinging her bag wildly at an approaching duo in masks, both carrying knives.

Damian took the attacker closest to him, while Dick grabbed the one still advancing on the woman. Damian barreled into the back of the man, using surprise and the other guy’s weight against him to throw him against the brick of a nearby building.

He aimed a kick at the man’s middle, hoping to knock out his wind and move in for an incapacitating blow, but instead found his foot grabbed. The attacker pulled, yanking Damian off his feet. As he fell, he twisted, kicking again to try and lose the guy’s grip and free his leg. Instead of succeeding, the guy took a cue from Damian and jerked his foot to the opposite side until it popped and cracked, eliciting a sharp yelp from Damian a moment before his cheek slammed against the concrete with bruising force.

The attacker didn’t let up, dragging Damian closer by his ankle, scratching his face on the tiny rivets of stone and coarse pebbles making up the ground beneath him. He slipped a batarang out of his belt and flung it forward at the guy, satisfied when he heard a cry and his leg was finally dropped.

He scrambled back, his ankle throbbing from being pulled and twisted as it had, and fumbled for another batarang to protect himself with. The man had a hand clasped to his shoulder, red seeping out from under his palm. Damian’s first batarang was caught in the wall behind them, having nicked the guy’s skin as it flew past.

In his injured hand, he still carried the knife he’d been holding when Nightwing and Robin had crashed in, and he held it high as he charged. Damian rolled out of the way. He stood, wobbling for a moment on his screaming ankle before it gave out and he dropped to a knee.

Damian looked up just in time to see the knife descend, he tried to move out of the way, but his ankle caught under him again, freezing him with a shock of pain shooting up his leg. The knife bit into his shoulder and dug deep. Damian didn’t give him the satisfaction of a scream, instead he grabbed the guy’s hand and flipped him over his back, adrenaline pumping extra strength into his throw.

A flash of blue and black darted past Damian, and he heard more than saw Dick take the guy out. Damian’s attention turned to where Dick had been fighting, and found one unconscious thug on the ground and the woman running from the scene.

He fell back against the wall and let out a shaky breath, tilting his head to watch his brother zip tie Damian’s thug, yanking the tie with a little more force than was necessary before he moved to restrain the first.

His cheek stung, which was weird to focus on when his shoulder felt like it was on fire, and his ankle kept sending little sharp reminders that it was not happy and he needed to tend to it. But the stinging in his cheek is what Damian was focused on, and what made the back of his eyelids hot with frustrated tears. It was probably red and scratched, with less blood than Damian had when his nose bleed, but for some reason it was all he really cared about.

“Hey.” Dick was kneeling before him now, “Man that looks rough.”

His statement was directed at the blade still stuck in Damian’s shoulder, and helped align things a little better. Damian sniffed, blinking back the tears he’d almost let spill over.

“It’s fine, nothing I haven’t felt before.”

Those words made Dick flinch, and Damian felt guilt pool in his stomach over it. He hated reminding his brother of his past injuries because he always seemed to blame himself. As if it were his fault he hadn’t known of Damian’s existence.

Damian pressed his lips together and huffed, “I allowed him to get too many moves in. I’m sorry.”

“We all have bad nights.” Dick said, “But that’s definitely going to need looking at. I don’t think we’ll make it to Frankie’s tonight.”

He nodded, and Dick stood, holding a hand out to Damian. When Damian didn’t take it right away he frowned.

“I do not believe I can walk.” Damian admitted, “My ankle may be broken.”

The corners of Dick’s eyes tightened, and Damian caught him glance just for a moment over at the guy Damian had been fighting as if he wished he’d given him an extra kick. Then he was smiles at Damian, and nodding.

“Alright, piggyback then? Or is that too much for your arm? I can just pick you up?”

Damian appreciated that his brother was giving him the option. It was something he wished more of his family would do. Too often Father would simply scoop him up or Todd would hoist him over a shoulder and putting Damian in the most embarrassing of situations that left him feeling like a child.

Right now he did not think he’d mind feeling like a child. The pain of his shoulder really was starting to overtake everything, even the stinging in his cheek. He held his arms open as an answer and allowed Richard to lift him and tuck him close to his chest.

“To Leslie we go. You want to call her or should I?”

Damian made the call and let his brother drive distraction free. Well, as distraction free as he could be glancing over at Damian every few seconds to make sure he hadn’t bled out or fallen unconscious.

When they arrived, Damian was so distracted by Leslie’s tutting over his injuries he missed when his brother disappeared. He only noticed when everything was quiet, his foot propped up and in a cast, and the fire in his shoulder finally ebbing as medicine numbed it. Leslie was tucking him in.

“Where is Richard?” Damian asked, his absence hitting Damian almost as hard as the knife had.

“He promised he’d be right back, said something urgent came up, but that it wouldn’t take long.”

“Oh.” Damian said, deflating, “Thank you, and thank you for this.” Damian waved at himself, “I am sorry to be such trouble.”

“I’m always happy to help.” she said, and stepped out.

Leslie had said that Damian didn’t have long to wait for his brother to return, but those few minutes felt like an eternity. Richard didn’t leave Damian when he was hurt. He just didn’t. He was a worrywart (Drakes term) and had to be pried away most of the time.

What had caused him to leave this time? Had it been Damian’s fault? Damian had worked hard to stop taking blame on himself for things, and he had gotten much better at not assuming something was because he had failed, but this was too strange to be a coincidence. Few things pulled Richard away from a hurt family member, and they were typically another injured person.

But Damian would have been told. His brother would not have left him with no idea of what was going on. Meaning whatever the reason was, it was Damian’s fault. It was highly embarrassing to end up as injured as he was taking down muggers, perhaps Richard had finally realized Damian was not up to par. That he had grown soft living in Gotham and he was no longer a good partner.

Perhaps he was not planning to return at all.

That thought sunk like a stone in Damian’s stomach. He was being foolish of course, Richard was sure to have a perfectly reasonable explanation when he returned. That bit of rational thought did not stop the wave of fear fueled ones from building in Damian’s mind until his chest hitched, short of breath, and his hands gripped at the sheets under him like it was all that was holding him together.

The tension in his arm spread up, sparking a return of the pain in his stab wound and Damian bit back new frustrated tears. He just wished Richard would come back and explain everything.

He jumped when the door to his room opened, then swung wildly, crashing into the doorstop and making the spring vibrate wildly.

“Oops.” Dick said, stepping in, “It’s hard to open a door with no hands.”

Damian blinked over at him and caught his meaning immediately. He was carrying a white box with the label Frankie's plastered on it in one hand, and two cups in the other. He grinned at Damian.

“I figured the night’s plans couldn’t be all lost by a little knife wound.”

A choked laugh escaped Damian’s throat that turned into a full series of giggles that shook him so hard his shoulder protested. Of course his brother had left to surprise him. Damian really was an idiot sometimes.

“What’s so funny?” his brother asked.

“Nothing.” Damian said, “I was simply not expecting this.”

His brother grinned at him, “Good, I wanted to surprise you. Move over so I can sit down with you.”

Damian made room for his brother, and together they set into the box of fries and milkshakes. 


	7. Shackled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Blood, panic attack, major character death, hurt no comfort
> 
> Thanks to Laquilasse for the initial idea and for being the best beta

Damian and Father were out searching when they got the call. Oracle buzzed into the comms with a breathless, "I found his location."

It was all Damian needed to set his heart beating a hundred miles an hour. The only person that the call could be about was Dick. For a month now, he was all they'd been searching for. Every night he and Father were out looking for any sign of his eldest brother. And now, here was news at last. After so many false leads and dead ends, Oracle had come through.

"We'll be lucky if he's still alive." Father said, a hand on Damian's shoulder.

This sent a sharp wave of pain through Damian's chest, "He is. He has to be."

Father looked down at him, and Damian wished he could see his Father's expression behind the cowl, "Damian--" he started, and then seemed to not know what to say, he cleared his throat, "You'll let me go first when we arrive, do you understand?"

Damian knew what that meant. Father was trying to protect him in case Richard was dead. He also knew he should promise that he would allow Father to go ahead of him, but it was not a promise he wanted to make. It wasn't one he could make. Father would not wait, and neither would Damian.

"I will do my best." he said.

The building Oracle sent them to was old. It was a business, some place that looked like advertisers had worked in it. Damian had no idea why Richard would be here, let alone why someone from this building would have taken him. What he did know was that the _moment_ he saw the men who'd taken his brother, he was going to teach them exactly how bad an idea they’d had kidnapping Nightwing.

He allowed Father to go in first, and both of them waited on further information from Oracle as to what room Richard was being held in. The comms were silent.

"Oracle, come in." Father tried.

Static came on the other end of the line.

Damian pressed his lips together, and squeezed his hands into fists, "It seems we are out of range, or there is something blocking the signal. Perhaps that is also why we could not locate Richard earlier?"

Father nodded, and seemed to hesitate for a moment. Damian hated that hesitation. Any second wasted was another with Dick in the hands of these psychopaths.

"Father?" Damian prompted, still not willing to dart off on his own.

Father slipped two walkie talkies out of his belt and turned them both on. After a minute of testing he seemed happy that they'd work, "We'll split up. I'll take this floor and the basement, you take the top two. The moment you find him radio me."

"And you will do the same." Damian said, not asked.

Father nodded.

Damian took his time examining his assigned floors, he needed to be thorough so he did not miss something like a secret room or closet hiding his brother. He cleared the second floor about the same time Father announced he was heading down to the basement.

As he ascended the steps to the third, Damian felt as if butterflies had taken up space in his stomach and chest, fluttering like they were attempting to escape from some furious menace. Damian tried to ignore them as he began his search of the floor. The likelihood that his search would be fruitless up here was not lost on Damian. It was most likely that Richard was in the basement. That was why Father had taken it for himself and made Damian take the upper floors.

Still, he could not shake the terrible dread hanging over him. Father's words from earlier rang in his mind. _We will be lucky if he is alive._ Damian could not stand the thought that Richard was dead. Even missing this long. His brother was a fighter. He had withstood worse. He could survive this. For Father, and for Damian. Richard would not leave Damian again.

Damian was not sure he would survive losing his brother again. He did not think Father could stand losing another son. Richard knew that. Richard would do everything he could to make sure that did not happen.

The third floor was the top floor, and home to meeting rooms and the offices of those like the president and VP. The offices were not nearly as nice as Father's or even Drake's, but they had a view and well built desks. It was in the president’s office Damian found the secret room. He'd been messing with the bookshelf, thinking that perhaps the person in charge would be so trite as to have a room hidden behind a bookshelf, and then one book had resisted his aimless tugging, clicking instead.

Damian jumped back as the bookshelf slid open to reveal a door. He knew he should call Father immediately, but Richard could also be behind this door, and everything in Damian said not to wait. To throw it open and find his brother, bruised, broken, but alive.

He pulled out the walkie anyway, but did not click it on. Instead, he used his free hand to turn the handle on the door and pull it open. A wave of rancid air blew past him, sick and metallic with the smell of blood. The inside was dark, and Damian had to fumble for a light switch. At last he found it, flicking on a set of overhead florescent lights that hummed slightly as they warmed up from a pinkish hue.

Damian saw Richard immediately. He was shackled to the corner of the small room, hands bound behind him, face turned into the floor. Damian could see the source of the blood, a large dark pool spreading under his brother.

_"Richard!"_

The name tore out of Damian's throat instead of his brother's code name. He didn't care if there were microphones or cameras to catch his slip. He bolted for his brother and slid to his knees, soaking his pants in blood, the walkie falling to his side forgotten.

His heart felt ready to tear out of his chest. Richard was here. He’d found him. He was alive. He had to be alive. Damian’s hands were shaking, those butterflies in his stomach had gone into a frenzy now as he reached out to check his brother out, to see the extent of his injuries and (please, _please_) see the rise and fall of his chest.

"Richard, Richard!" Damian couldn't stop saying his name as he turned his brother over, as gently as he could, the shackles around Dick’s wrists clinking as he moved him.

The first thing he saw was blue. Cloudy blue eyes stared lifelessly up at him as Dick’s head lolled to the side. His mask had been torn off at some point, his face was more black and blue than skin. Bial rose against Damian’s throat, like acid. With a trembling hand, he reached out to press his fingers against Dick’s throat in search of a pulse.

Nothing. 

“No.” Damian’s voice broke, he moved his hand away and tried again on the other side of Dick’s neck, “No. No, no, no, no, no.”

Damian couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he--he--

Richard wasn’t dead. Richard couldn’t be dead. It was wrong. This should not have happened. Damian didn’t--

“No.” his voice was hoarse, throat hot and tight against tears.

Damian ran his hand through Richard’s hair, fingers catching on matted, tangled bits until he pulled. Startled, Damian yanked his hand back, and jerked Richard’s head.

“I’m sorry.” he said, patting the hair down with a sudden absurd need to apologize for hurting him, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m.” Damian’s voice cracked, and he fell against his brother’s battered chest.

“Please” he whispered, “Please, Richard, please come back.”

His other hand gripped at his brother’s uniform, tangling in it, “I’m sorry.” he said again, “I won’t do it again. I won’t be late. I promise, next time I’ll do better, just be okay please.”

Damian buried his face in Dick’s chest, his own hitching as he tried to breathe. He’d failed. He’d failed Richard. It should have been him in this room, should have been anyone in the world but his brother.

“You can’t be gone. Richard, do you understand me? You can’t be gone. I lost you before, and it almost killed me. I need you. Father needs you. Please, if not for me, for him?” he plead, peeking his head up for a moment as if that would do anything to change the reality, as if Richard’s love for Father would bring him back.

And Damian hoped it would. If Richard would come back just for Father then Damian would be happy. He would throw away everything he had, every moment of joy or happiness, every second of Richard’s love if he’d just come back.

“Please.” he whispered, not even to Dick anymore, to the air, the sky, anyone listening, “Please.”

He sniffled, and let go long enough to press his hands against his chest, right where he knew his own death scar was, where Father had stabbed him with that shard and given him life back.

“I don’t want this.” he said, “If you can hear me, whatever power brought me back, please, _please_, give it to him, take it from me and bring him back.”

“Bring him back!” Damian yelled, falling down to squeeze his brother’s chest, “Bring him back! Please! Give him back! It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not! It should be me. It should have been me.” he was sobbing, hot huge tears running down his face.

He couldn’t stop sobbing once he started, all words were lost as all he could do was wail helplessly. It felt like his heart was tearing itself out of his chest, and Damian wasn’t sure he’d care if it actually did.

Damian didn’t know how long he lay there, pressed against a still chest heaving with sobs and cries. He was so lost in his grief that he didn’t notice any one else’s arrival until he was being dragged away. Damian screamed, grabbing at his brother’s body and kicking back at whoever had the audacity to pull him away.

The person didn’t drop their hold, only dropped to the ground so Damian wasn’t lifted anymore. Instead he was tugged into a chest, one hand working his grip on Richard’s uniform, pulling one then both hands away. Father’s arms wrapped tightly around Damian then, a face falling into his hair, his voice close to his ear.

“Damian, breathe, breathe son.”

“No!” the word tore from his throat hot and terrified, “No, no, no!”

He tore at his father’s arms, and tried to dive back towards Richard, but Father wouldn’t let go, he just held him, face in his hair, soothing words half a moment away from breaking themselves in his ear.

Finally, Damian slumped, exhaustion taking over the frenzied panic he’d held. Father’s voice was still in his ear, shushing him. One of his hands found Damian’s and tangled their fingers together. Damian began crying again, not wild wails, but little hiccuping sobs.

“Fa-ther.” The word was broken.

“Shh.” Father said and lifted him, this time Damian let him, shuffling so his face was pressed into Father’s chest. He breathed in deeply trying to make the smell of leather and oil and sweat mask the scent of death.

Damian let himself be carried all the way back to the car and tucked inside, Father’s hand in his hair for a brief moment before he left to take care of Richard. Damian didn’t follow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be at least 2 other parts associated with this fic landing on various other days


	8. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This goes after the last chapter, Shackled and is part 2/3 of this mini-series
> 
> I'm swapping Numb and Unconscious for today's postings, so I'll do a prompt fill for that later. 
> 
> Warnings: It sad, hurt no comfort, blood, stabbing

After the funeral Damian stopped allowing himself to cry. Richard would have told him it was bad to bottle things up, but evidently, Richard was not here. He would never be able to give him advice again. And that was the very reason he’d stopped crying. Damian had stopped doing most things, but not in the way Father had. 

Father had withdrawn. He spoke less than before, ate almost nothing, and moved only to check on Damian and make sure he was still there, still alive and not gone too. Damian wanted to appreciate it, but the closeness felt too much like Dick, like the one person he wanted near and could never again have. The memory threatened to make Damian soft. Father’s comfort worked to melt the ice Damian had built around his heart, and he didn’t want it.

All Damian felt anymore was anger. Fury bubbled inside him at the world, at the man or woman who’d done this to them. Who had stripped their light from their lives and vanished without a trace. 

He was going to kill them. Whoever they were. Damian was going to find them and pay them back for every moment of pain they’d put Richard through, for every agonizing second he and Father had searched in vain, for taking the only good thing in Damian’s world and destroying it. He was going to make them suffer. He just had to find them first. 

Damian rubbed his eyes and blinked blearily at the computer screen in his room. Father was not allowing him to use the one in the cave for his revenge, and had banned him from the type of revenge he’d been plotting. They would find the person, Father had said, and they would get justice, but not the type Damian wanted. They were not that kind of family, Father had reminded him. Richard would not want Damian to kill for him. 

But Richard was not here, and that was the whole problem. 

He was currently working his way through video surveillance pulled from the street outside the building they’d found Dick in. Oracle had already run through the files searching for facial recognition and come up with nothing, but Damian was going minute by minute, second by second, to find any clue as to who’d brought his brother in. 

They found out the night they brought Dick home that the building’s history had been wiped off the internet. Employee information, faces, names, even financial records for when the stupid building had been built. All of it gone. 

So Damian would pick through what they did have: video. He’d look and search and the moment he found anything suspicious he’d dig and dig into them until he found the truth. 

It took him almost a month. Almost as long as Richard had been missing before they’d found him. But Damian did it. He found the man before Father or Barbara or anyone else. He’d found him, and he was going to kill him. 

He waited until Father left for patrol. Damian had benched himself since the night they’d found Richard. Father let him, and did not push, assuming it was Damian’s way of mourning. He didn’t argue with that assumption. It was better to let Father think he had fallen into a funk than know the truth of his rage. 

Damian dug his spare uniform out of his closet and suited up, as quietly as possible and snuck out without a moment of guilt. Pennyworth would be upset, and Father would be afraid for him, but none of that mattered. Neither would approve of his actions. He would deal with the fallout when he returned. 

The ease of which Damian captured the man was laughable. He had fallen into a lull of safety this far away from killing a bat, making him a simple target. It made Damian’s blood boil that this fool had killed his brother. 

True justice would have been met out in the same room Richard had died in, but Damian would not risk Father checking there for him. The dingy hotel room he’d found the man hiding in would have to do. 

Damian paced in front of the prone form, passing a knife from one hand to the other, ignoring the terrified rambling of the man on the floor. This was the moment he had been waiting for. It’s the one he’d worked so hard for and lost so much sleep trying to get to. Revenge was all that had held Damian’s fractured pieces together this long, so why was he hesitating?

When he closed his eyes he saw Richard, and he had to stop pacing. In his mind his brother knelt before him, hands on his shoulders, eyes pleading. Damian knew what he’d say if he could:  _ “Don’t kill him. Don’t break your promise to me, kiddo. Please?” _

Damian’s throat was tight, and the back of his eyes were hot. He squeezed the hilt of the knife so tightly he could hear his hand crack. 

Richard would never forgive him if he killed this fool. Damian wasn’t sure he could forgive himself if he did not. 

He turned from where he was standing, and kicked out, slamming his foot into the man’s chest and toppling him. He kicked again, and again, tears racing down his face in hot, salty, waves. He wanted to make him suffer, slowly and painfully as he had done to Richard, but with his next move Damian felt the strength go out of his kick, heart hammering against his chest in sharp panic. 

In his ears he heard his brother’s voice. Heard Richard’s patient reminders of who he believed Damian was. Of how much better than this he believed him to be. It tore at Damian’s heart, increasing the flow of tears to something almost blinding. 

He didn’t want to hear it, real or imaginary. Didn’t want to listen to advice he’d followed every day his brother had breathed. He wanted to pour all his hurt into this pathetic, whimpering, fool on the floor. If he listened to Richard he’d have to wade through that pain forever. This way maybe he could put a dent in it. 

He hefted the knife in defiance of Dick’s soft voice still pleading with him, insistent but for some reason still gentle. He sunk the blade into the man’s shoulder with a broken scream. He pulled it out and stabbed again, into the other shoulder, his own screams drowning out the man’s. 

This was everything he’d wanted since finding Richard wasn’t it? Yet as he pulled the knife out the second time Damian wasn’t so sure. It still hurt. Everything hurt and none of this was helping. He was only hurting more, he could only hear Richard’s voice in his head. How disappointed he must be in Damian. How sad would he be to learn this was how Damian was honoring his name? 

Damian’s legs seemed to lose their strength and he crashed to his knees, hand dropping from the hilt and buried his face in his hands, and screamed, all his pain and fury leaking out of him in a broken hollow wail. One scream turned into another, and another, tears streaked down his face as Damian shook apart. The ice he’d carefully poured over his heart shattered, splinters spreading through his chest like he’d been stabbed himself. Richard was gone. He was gone and nothing Damian did would ever bring him back. He was gone and Damian couldn’t even avenge him correctly. He was gone and Damian couldn’t even keep his promise to him. He was  _ gone _ . 

Damian screamed and cried, and pounded the floor until his knuckles were shredded and bloody, until the bones showed, cracked themselves from the ceaseless pounding. Nothing made the pain stop, not even the fact that he knew Richard would be proud of him for not killing his murderer. Nothing made it stop, and Damian knew then that nothing would. 


	9. Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: vomit, bruising  
No editing we die like mne
> 
> We're back to stand alone fics again

Damian woke up with a tugging pain in his stomach. Or, rather, pain around it would be a better description, it was throbbing and achy and made him groan. He rolled over to curl up like that might help. It did not. He grabbed a pillow and tugged it close, planting his face into it to focus on his breathing.

He was just sore, that was all. Sore and tired from a hard night of patrol that never really let up. It didn’t help that some idiot had gotten a good hit in with a pole against his stomach, and it helped less that his head had been bashed against not one but two walls.

Strangely, his head felt better than his stomach. It wasn’t fine, it ached too but it wasn’t the same gnawing pain in his middle.

Damian’s alarm went off then, a blaring shrieking noise that had him kick the pillow away and fumble for his phone, his hand slapping at it before the thing was silenced.

“Stupid phone.” Damian grumbled, and rolled out of bed.

The pillow had landed, slumped against the nightstand beside his bed. Damian bent to pick it up and yelped as something sharp dragged it’s way through his stomach and abdomen. He hissed, holding the position in an attempt to wait out the pain. When it didn’t let up, Damian snagged the pillow and threw it with more force than necessary onto the bed.

Guilt pooled in his stomach over throwing the pillow almost as soon as he had done it. This wasn’t his room where he could just throw things around whenever he was upset (even there he should not or face Pennyworth’s disappointment). He was staying with Dick for the week, and as at home as he’d made himself in the guest room, it wasn’t his.

He straightened, and with an awkward hand pulled the pillow from where it had landed all rumpled in the middle of the bed, back over to rest with the others. It was foolish, attempting to fix the pillow and leaving the rest of the bed unmade, so Damian set to tugging things in place, righting the comforter from where he’d pulled most of it around himself, and then smoothing it all out when he was finished.

That little bit of work left him panting, the pain in his stomach worse now than before. He grit his teeth, had he become so weak his body took this long to recover? He would not have it. He would push through this and have a good day. There was no way he was allowing an injury from the night before to ruin his time with his brother.

As he got ready to shower, he paused at the mirror to examine the ugly black and blue bruising across his abdomen. He poked at it and winced, as sharp pain responded. Damian scowled at it.

Damian found his brother up already, with coffee bubbling in a pot, and the smell of pancakes drifting through the apartment. He waved a spatula at Damian and smiled.

“Morning sleepyhead!”

“Tt. It is still early.” Damian said.

He moved to pull himself onto a bar stool to sit, the action pulled at the pain in his middle, but he ignored it, focusing his breathing until he was up and seated. When he looked up, Dick was frowning at him.

Damian sighed, it would not hurt to admit the bruise. Dick was well aware of it, he’d been the one to pull the guy off Damian last night anyway. And he would not hear the end of it if he were caught attempting to conceal it.

“It seems I’m quite bruised from last night’s patrol. Moving certain ways is somewhat painful, but it will not prevent me engaging with any activities you have planned for the day.”

“So you’re up for rock climbing and some serious training then?” Dick said.

Damian blanched a bit at that and straightened in his seat before his brother chuckled at him.

“I’m only kidding, we’ll take it easy today, so you’re not pushing yourself too hard. I’m glad you told me.”

“I could handle it.” Damian said, the old need to defend himself rising up. He did not want his brother to think he was incapacitated by a _bruise_.

“I know. The point is, you don’t have to. We’ll have a nice, peaceful day and even take the night off patrol.”

“Richard!” The thought of patrolling was not a great one, but he would not keep his brother from patrolling, “I do not need a babysitter to rest, and I am sure by patrol I will be fine.”

His protests were waved off again, “Calm down, Dames. I’m beat too. Bludhaven will survive a night without me and you, okay?”

Damian settled back into his seat and sighed, “I will allow it this once.”

Normally, Damian enjoyed his brother’s cooking. Contrary to his initial assumptions about him, Dick was a good cook when it came to dishes he was familiar with. He had somehow acquired Pennyworth’s recipe for pancakes, and while his never tasted exactly as the man’s, they were excellent.

Today, he could not bring himself to eat more than a few bites. He spent most of his breakfast shifting food around the plate, trying to trick his brain into letting him eat more. Every bite he did manage, was a fight against a stomach that did not seem to want it, as if he’d already had too much to eat and he was trying to force the rest of a meal down.

Even his juice suffered from his lack of appetite, sitting mostly full even as Damian helped his brother clean up their plates. His only saving grace was that Dick did not comment on his appetite or push him to eat more.

Dick was true to his word, they didn’t do very much through the day but it didn’t matter. Damian’s stomach just kept hurting and gradually grew worse, even after an application of pain medication and his brother forcing him to rest on the couch after he’d snapped with irritation over something minor. At this point the pain had spread from his stomach across his whole middle making almost any movement agony.

It was horrible. Damian had sworn not to let it ruin his day, but here he was settled into his brother’s couch and _useless_. Worse, he was grumpy and shaky and feeling ill, which made him the worst of company. That knowledge only made him grumpier, and frustrated, all spiraling together in a symphony fit to make someone’s ears bleed.

He gripped one of his brother’s garish decorative pillows close to his chest and grit his teeth. He had to pull himself together. Really, letting a bruise hinder him like this was laughable. He had survived and pushed past far worse in training.

The pillow was quickly too much, Damian was warm and it’s added weight seemed to set him over the edge into hot and uncomfortable. He tossed it away only to hear a ‘oof’. Damian turned his head and saw Dick, pillow caught in one hand.

“Careful, kiddo, you could knock someone over with that throw.”

“Tt. You should be more vigilante, attacks could come at any time.” Damian responded with more heat than his brother warranted. He had done nothing wrong after all.

“I brought some tea, I was hoping it might help a bit.”

Damian’s cheeks flushed at that, Dick was far too kind and he was far too grumpy to deal well with it. He hated feeling the way he did, it was not fair to his brother. Even trying to act better was difficult when all he wanted to do was curl in on himself and scream.

“I am fine.” Damian said, deciding once and for all to ignore the pain and get on with his day, “Why don’t we go out for a walk?”

“After the tea.” his brother insisted, taking a seat next to him and pressing the warm mug into Damian’s palms.

His appetite had not returned through the day, and just the scent of the tea set his stomach queasy. Dick looked so hopeful that Damian sipped at it. It was mint, and steeped lightly, meaning his brother hadn’t believed a single one of Damian’s utterly false “I’m fines”.

It also set his stomach off almost immediately.

Damian lurched forward, mug falling from hands that had suddenly lost their strength and threw up, vomit splashing all over Dick’s rug and mixing with the spilled tea. He lost the meager breakfast he’d had, and the little bit of tea, and whatever bile his body had come up with. And it _hurt_. The pain felt like fire now, driving tears from Damian’s eyes, and a whimper from his lips between bouts of now dry heaves.

When he finished, Dick leaned him into his side, pressing a hand on the back of his forehead, “I don’t think this is just a bruise.”

Damian couldn’t bring himself to really respond beyond a whine. He squeezed his eyes closed, and wrapped his arms around his stomach. He was trembling, leaning there. He pulled his knees up to his chest and bit back a sob.

He let himself be laid out flat on the couch so his brother could lift his shirt to examine his stomach. Dick pressed lightly from left to right. When he reached Damian’s right side he let out a sharp yelp of pain, his back arching to try to get away from the source of the pressure.

Dick took a moment to google, and then call Alfred. Damian ignored the murmured conversation, instead curling into the side of the couch and squeezing his eyes closed. He just wanted the pain to stop.

“You and I are off to the hospital.” Dick said, getting Damian’s attention.

He rolled over, “No, no. I’m alright. It is just a passing bug or something.”

Dick shook his head, “Nope, Alfie thinks it’s appendicitis. You’ve still got your appendix right?”

“Appendicitis?” Damian asked, blinking at him, he knew of the illness but had not ever expected to face it, “I do.” his answer felt somewhat delayed, “At least, Mother never said it was removed.”

His brother nodded, “Hospital then. Come on, I’ll carry you.”

Damian allowed himself to be collected into his brother’s arms and didn’t protest further. He hated hospital trips, but if it would make the searing feeling stop, he’d submit to just about anything at this point.

He didn’t pay much attention to the trip or even his arrival at the hospital. Damian spent most of his time focusing on not throwing up again. It was easier curled in Richard’s warm arms, with his brother’s voice in his ear murmuring soothing words.

It turned out that Alfred’s guess was right. Damian did have appendicitis. His appendix hadn’t just swollen, at some point it ruptured, meaning surgery and stitches and anesthesia.

Damian woke up, bleary eyed, but feeling better than he had all day long. He was stiff, and the bed he was in wasn’t the most comfortable, but he didn’t care. There was no fire in his stomach, and no sparking pain blinding him.

“Hey there.” Dick said.

He turned his head to find his brother seated beside him, book settled in his lap. When Damian’s eyes landed on Dick, he smiled, but there was something in his smile that seemed worried.

“Richard.” Damian said.

“How are you feeling?” His brother asked.

Damian shrugged, “I am stiff, but the pain is gone.”

He was still trying to read his brother’s face, and figure out what was upsetting him. The sudden thought that perhaps Damian had gotten Richard in trouble hit him. Not for the appendicitis, that was something no one could predict, but for the huge bruise stretching across his middle. He searched his memory for what excuse his brother had given for the bruising. If they hadn’t been able to convince the staff Damian had been hurt on his own, his brother might be under suspicion, something Damian never wanted to put him through.

“Richard?” he asked, voice quiet.

“Hm?”

Damian couldn’t look at his brother. He was so overcome by the idea of his own mistake the night before possibly making life hard for Dick he didn’t want to see his face when he asked the question.

“Why are you unhappy? The doctors are not upset with you are they?”

“What? No, no one is mad at me, or you for that matter.”

Damian looked back at his brother, who seemed confused, but his worry was less evident. He could not help but feel relieved that it was not his fault.

His brother reached out and brushed his cheek with a thumb, “I was just worried about you and kicking myself for not realizing it was more than a bruise earlier.” He frowned, “It was obvious there was something more wrong, I didn’t see it and you were in pain longer than you needed to be.”

Damian moved to sit up, pulling at his stomach. Dick pushed him back down with wide eyes.

“What are you doing, you shouldn’t get up yet.”

He shook his head, “I wanted to assure you that I do not blame you.”

“By getting up?” Dick asked.

Damian felt his cheeks heat up, “You react best to a hug.”

His brother smiled at him, “Let’s compromise. You’re going to be stuck in bed for a little while recovering, so I’ll meet you halfway.”

Dick climbed into the bed, careful not to jar Damian too much, and then tugged him into a hug. Damian returned the hug, squeezing his brother tightly.

“Sorry I worried you.” he whispered, “I should have also realized it was more than an injury.”

He was frustrated by the idea that he would have to rest for days after this, but Damian could not complain too much. He knew for a fact that his brother would be there, and do what he could to make the time they spent together enjoyable. Recovering or not, Damian’s time with him would not feel wasted.

“Oh, I called Bruce.” Dick said, “He said you can stay over as long as you need to so you can recover, even if it passes what we’d planned.”

Damian nodded, “That’s good.”

“I was thinking, we could cheat a little bit and even after you’re feeling better if you want to stay a few extra days I won’t complain.”

Now Damian smiled, “I think that is an excellent idea.” 


	10. Don't Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 prompt, Don't Move, set in the time Dick was Batman and Damian his Robin
> 
> I know I'm late with this. I meant to work on it yesterday and instead played Skyrim for far too long. 
> 
> Warnings: a tense situation, and worry I guess?

“Perfect! Don’t move an inch.” Riddler said, stepping back to examine his handiwork. 

Or in this case, to examine Robin cuffed and tied to a chair. He’d been stripped of his gear, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. He was in what was literally an empty room beyond Damian himself, further limiting the ways he could attempt to escape. 

“As if I could.” Damian snapped, “This is the most obvious of traps. Batman will not fall for it.” 

Riddler waved him off, “It’s not about what’s there, Little Bird. It’s about what’s not.” 

Damian’s brows knit at that, “Do not be inane, Nygma. Whatever you’ve done, Batman will stop you and make sure you're back in Arkham where you belong.” 

The man chuckled, “Let’s wait and see if the Bat can figure out my latest string of riddles before declaring me incompetent. It’s not just you he’s playing for.” 

With that, Damian was left alone in the room. Nygma even had the gall to turn off the lights, leaving Damian in near darkness. There was one window, flickering in light from outside. 

His head was throbbing, a reminder of just how badly he’d messed up to get here. He’d been on recon, left outside to wait while Grayson scouted a building they’d been staking out all week. The stakeout had nothing to do with the Riddler. Batman and Robin had been working on a weapons smuggling case.  While keeping an eye out for anyone who might sneak in and surprise Batman, Damian had been ambushed. Apparently, Riddler had been staking them out waiting for the chance to grab Robin alone. Damian had not gone down without a fight, but for whatever reason Batman had not responded to any of his calls on the comms. 

“Robin?” The communicator in Damian’s ear cracked to life, Grayson’s voice full of static but understandable. 

“Tt. Now you respond.” Damian wasn’t sure why Nygma had left his comm in when he’d taken everything else, but he was grateful for the connection. 

“Thank goodness, I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour now.”

So Damian had been unconscious at least that long. Grayson and Pennyworth would insist on an examination when they returned home to make sure he did not have a concussion. And if he did? Damian grimaced he would be off patrol until he was deemed fit for duty again.  He had never had to wait to return to action nearly as long as Pennyworth made him with the League. Part of his training had often involved fighting or reacting while injured in some way. One's enemies did not usually wait for them to recover fully. 

“An hour?” Damian asked, clicking the pieces together, Nygma must have had something with a jamming signal on him, either that or Damian's comm had been damaged in the fight and would be sporadic. 

“Where are you?” 

“I do not know, I was unconscious when I was brought in.” Damian said, then quickly outlined his predicament. 

“It is obviously a trap.” he finished. 

“That’s not going to stop me coming for you.” Grayson’s words set something warm and fluttering in Damian’s chest, “You said there’s a window, what can you see out it? I can’t seem to get a lock on your location.” 

Damian craned his head to attempt to get a better look out the window, “Buildings, like those of the the jewelry district. I must be up a few levels because I cannot see streets or sidewalks.”

“Good start, do you recognize any of the buildings by name? Maybe remember a street one of them is on?” 

He thought perhaps the glass one closest in his vision was familiar, but his head was foggy, and he wasn’t quite able to piece together what it was. Then, something bright and green flickered to life outside, pulling Damian’s attention up into the sky. A huge question mark lit up the clouds.

“Robi--” Grayson’s crackly voice cut off with a snap.

“Batman?” Damian asked, “Batman!” 

No response. He squeezed his hands into fists, it looked like whatever moment of connection Nygma or the faulty comm had given them was over. Damian was not sure if he wanted his brother to seek him out or to follow Nygma’s clues to save whoever else he’d tied up in an empty room somewhere. He should want it to be the civilian. Should have told his brother that when they’d been speaking. A part of him wished his brother would just find him. It was a weak and foolish part that Mother would disapprove of, but a part nonetheless. He was not ashamed to admit he’d grown used to relying on Grayson as his partner. They could not effectively work as the team they were without it. Damian could not be Robin unless he and Grayson had a strong partnership, and so he had. 

He’d assumed that partnership was merely a formal aspect of who they were. Something for patrol and ensuring the other was healthy and caring for themselves. At least, that is how Damian had gone into it thinking. He had not counted on the fact that Grayson had a way of softening even the hardest of resolves. Meaning, perhaps, Damian had grown to rely on him in more ways than simply that. 

That was the entire problem. Because of his weakness he was forcing his Batman to choose between him and someone more deserving of rescue. Damian should be able to save himself. He was Robin, and if Robin could not protect himself, how was he to protect others and his Batman? 

He tugged at the cuffs around his wrists, testing their strength and how tight they were. The sharp click of links pulling taught told him they were well made and wouldn’t be easy to break. But he had mobility. Yes he’d been tied to the chair, but only around the upper half of his torso. He could still bend the lower half of his arms. If he worked at it, he was sure he could get himself untied. 

“I do not know if you can hear me or not, Batman, but I am going to attempt to free myself. Rescue whoever else that fool Nygma has captured.” 

Again, there was no response. Damian was not exactly expecting one, even if he had hoped. It was highly possible Nygma himself was listening in, but Damian did not care. In fact, he wished the man to know. That way he would not be surprised when Damian found him to exact his revenge for kidnapping him. 

It took far longer than he cared to admit to untie the ropes. His head was pounding through it, and the little activity sparked up bruising portions of his arms from his fight earlier. His mobility was severely hampered by the hand cuffs, but at last the rope dropped from his upper arms and torso. He sucked in a deep breath. There was something unsettling about being all alone in near darkness. Especially since some part of this was a trap. 

“Batman?” Damian tried, his voice feeling small in the dark room, “Are you there?” 

This whole situation was not sitting well with Damian. What was the real trap here? He was in no immediate danger beyond simply being confined to this room. There was no ticking time bomb, no slowly lowering ax to behead him, no poison eating away at his boots then toes. 

There was nothing. 

Was simply allowing him partial communication with Batman the only lure for his partner? Did Nygma have men waiting outside the room to attack Grayson when he arrived? If he was planning on following Batman’s movements he would have left Damian and Dick in contact instead of cutting it short. Damian could not figure it out. If only he could get in contract with his brother, perhaps together they could work out what the true trap was. 

“Batman!” Damian snapped into the air, “Answer me.” 

He was met with silence and a growing dread. It ate as his stomach, like when he had missed something on a mission and was awaiting punishment without even knowing what he had missed. Damian squeezed his eyes shut, he hated that feeling more than anything. He’d rather it be over and done with, to know and understand the source of his failure so he could avoid repeating the mistake. Even then, Mother had not always revealed his mistake to him. Sometimes he had been told, others he was left to try to figure it out or fail again with worse consequences. 

Damian did not wish to face the consequences of failing tonight. He had messed up once by missing Nygma in the first place. He would not miss something again. That’s why he didn’t move. It was all he had to go on, Riddler’s quizzical instruction to stay put even with binds that could be undone with some work, and a room empty of any danger. 

What else had the man said? Damian searched his memory for the other thing that had seemed odd. Everything with Nygma was a riddle, a question begging to be answered and Damian had been too embarrassed by his own failure to pay proper attention. He had let his fury at being tied up and trapped and torn away from his partner to play hostage keep him from listening. It was a rookie move, with Riddler one must always be listening. 

“...bin?” Static and Grayson’s voice crackled over Damian’s comm. 

“Batman?” 

“Ro..bin...my way don’t…” Grayson’s voice was barely coming through the static as Damian strained to hear what he was saying. “I repeat...move...copy?”

“You are making little sense, please repeat.” Damian said. 

He didn’t think he was getting through this time, but he had to try again. Something was bothering him and he needed to stop Grayson so he would have time to figure it out. 

“Batman, listen do not come yet. There is something wrong. You must wait.” 

Damian slipped his arms up, over the back of the chair, they were still stuck behind him, but at least he could move quickly if he needed it. What was the trap? If he could figure that out before Grayson arrived, he could make sure his brother was safe. He could protect him from this mess Damian had gotten them all into. 

There was nothing in this room, nothing but Damian and this chair. What had Nygma said? 

Darkness blotted out the little bit of light in the room a moment before the window shattered with a crash. Damian jerked back, shoulder raising to protect his face as best as he could from the scattering debris. Batman landed with a thunk, crushing more glass under his feet. 

“Robin, at last.” Relief was evident in his voice. 

Damian looking Batman up and down. There was nothing wrong with him, no bruising or evidence of battle at all. The trap had not yet been sprung, since nothing had gone off when he’d entered the room. There was that sick, gnawing, feeling in Damian’s stomach again. He’d missed something. 

“Stop!” he said, “Don’t move!” 

Batman froze in his spot, “What’s the matter?” 

“Tell me! What were Nygma’s riddles? How did you find me?” Damian asked, hands gripping the back of his chair.

“There’s not really time for all this, Robin.” 

Damian shook his head, “It is still a trap. Trust me, please.” 

Batman nodded, “Alright, the clues all led to the other hostage, also in a room like this. I found you based on what you said earlier.” 

“There were no traps?” 

“Some of Riddler’s flunkies outside the other room. I wanted to avoid that this time.” Grayson answered, with a wave at the window. 

It was wrong. There was something missing. Something that should be there, but wasn’t? It was about what wasn’t, right? Wasn’t _what_ though? 

“Listen, Nygma’s on his way. He’s probably just playing mind games with you and there’s no trap in here either. Let's get you off that and out of here.” Grayson said, moving to step towards Damian.

In that moment it hit him, Nygma’s words from earlier: _ ‘It’s not about what’s there, Little Bird. It’s about what’s not’ _ . Damian kicked out at Batman, knocking him back. Then Damian shoved his feet against the ground, pushing the chair back as far away from Batman as he could. 

“No! Go, get out of here right now!” he yelled, “It’s me. It's me. I'm on the trap!” 

Batman straightened, surprise on his face, “What?” then his eyes went wide with realization. 

In Damian’s panic the chair started to wobble and tip as he pushed it. He knew he couldn’t keep it up without moving off it. It was going to fall, and he would tumble off it setting off the pressure trigger on the bomb and he was still too close to his brother. 

All Damian could think to do was to protect Grayson. 

“Out the window!” Damian yelled, then in one movement he pushed himself up, feet onto the edge of the seat and shoved off it in his brother’s direction, kicking the chair backwards as he did. 

A lot happened in the next second, Batman turned and dove for the window, Damian went flying towards him, and the bomb exploded. A wave of heat, sound, and shattered wood crashed into Damian, with blinding force and searing pain, propelling him forward with even more force into Batman. It all happened so fast he didn’t even have time to scream. After that he knew nothing. 


	11. Unconscious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My late entry for day 10's prompt Unconscious. Tied in with the last chapter (because apparently I can't do just one shots this month lol). I'm working to try to catch up to the prompts I've missed, but we'll see how many I hit. 
> 
> Warnings: descriptions of injuries, blood, and one slightly impaled lad

The explosion was a blur. One moment Dick was diving for a window, sure Robin was right behind him, the next he felt a heavy weight crash into him, accompanied by heat and the earsplitting sound of an explosion. 

Then they were falling, six stories down with Dick’s ears ringing and vision spinning, but he had to move. One hand held his grapple, the other reached around him to grab at Damian. He spun, dragging the child into his chest as he shot the grapple blindly up and towards the building they were hurtling past. 

It caught them with a snap that threatened to tear Dick’s grip from the grapple. They swung, slamming into the glass of another window, Dick’s just caught breath whooshing out of him on impact. 

He sucked in air, ears still ringing like a gong had been struck inside them, his chest pressing against the much smaller one squished to him, and hooked the line to his belt so both arms could wrap securely around his partner. Damian wasn’t moving, he hadn’t made a sound since he’d shouted at Dick. 

Dick didn’t have time to check him out, they needed to get to safety. He’d rather not go in the building he’d just jumped out of, or stay connected to it much longer in case Nygma had more in store for them than a bomb. 

The grapple lowered them the rest of the way to the ground, which was heart stoppingly close. Dick had just made it, just barely kept them both from painting the pavement. His heart pounded against his chest, but he still couldn’t stop. He’d left the car close by, knowing he’d want a fast escape, all the same he hit the button on his belt meant to call it close.

He met the car at a run, Damian still pressed tightly to his chest, heat radiating off the kid like he was the sun. Dick hadn’t looked down yet. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by his brother’s condition. His chest rose and fell against Dick’s and that’s all he needed to know right then. 

However, the moment they were in the car, Dick turned on autopilot and started looking over his baby brother. Damian’s cape was done for, but it looked like it had taken most of the heat from the blast, singed and shriveled. He’d have to be careful for any hidden injuries when they got Damian back to the cave. He’d been hit, and hit Dick, pretty hard and he was sure something had broken. His brother’s ears were bleeding, from the explosion. His hands were still cuffed behind his back, the metal of the cuffs hot even through Dick’s gloves. He could at least get his brother’s arms free, and picked the simple lock on the cuffs easily before easing Damian’s arms around to rest in his lap. 

Dick brushed Damian’s hair back from his forehead and looked over his brother’s face, it had been facing away from the blast, but in the dark Dick hadn’t gotten a good look at whatever damage had been done during Damian’s capture. He had a chance now to assess things before they got back. His palm caught a lump towards the back of Damian’s scalp, probably from where someone got a good hit in and knocked him out. Black and blue was starting just above his mask on one eye, promising a bigger bruise underneath, and he had a split lip. 

The worst of his injuries was by far his leg. A large chunk of wood from the chair the bomb had been strapped to was impaled in the lower part of his leg. Dick had been careful settling him into the car that he didn’t jar it, or press the wood further in. 

Damian was still out when they got back to the bunker. Dick was glad of it, a conscious Damian might mean him trying to fight Dick off without realizing how hurt he was, or foolishly pushing to have Dick looked at before he was. Dick’s ears were still ringing with tinnitus, but it was faded from the all consuming noise it had been earlier. He was sure he was otherwise bumped and bruised, but nothing anywhere near Damian’s state. 

Alfred was right there to help Dick ease Damian out of the car. Together they carried the boy to a bed, and worked to patch him up. It was slow, they had to be careful especially with the piece of chair lodged in Damian’s leg. 

Through it all, Damian slept. As much of a relief as it was, it also worried Dick. They’d given him painkillers, but nothing so strong it would keep him under if he was starting to stir. Alfred said he needed rest, to sleep off the shock of the explosion, but Dick just wanted to see his brother’s eyes open. 

He was shipped off to the shower himself by Alfred to wash off the smoke and blood, coming back out as fast as he’d gone into the locker room. His hearing had finally cleared completely, and once scrubbed, Dick had a couple bruises and a few nicks from loose debris in the explosion, but overall he was fine.

It was all thanks to Damian. Dick pulled up a chair beside his brother’s bed and set to brushing the kid’s hair with his fingers. If he hadn’t figured out Nygma’s trap they’d both have taken a direct hit from the blast. Then he’d gone and made sure to protect Dick himself, making sure he was between his partner and the explosion. 

“Thanks.” he said, voice quiet.

Dick could only imagine what his brother had faced sitting there alone as long as he had. He knew Damian didn’t blame him a moment for going after the civilian Nygma had also kidnapped. But, he also knew how he’d felt as a Robin taken from his Batman’s side. All Dick had ever wanted in that position was rescue himself. 

He’d promised Damian he’d be coming, and he had. Dick only hated that he’d let Damian get hurt in that rescue. Dick leaned down and pressed a kiss to his brother’s forehead. 

“I’m sorry, kiddo.”

Every time Dick felt like he was getting the hang of being Batman to a Robin something happened to make him reevaluate things. He’d failed tonight. Robin should feel safe, and when he wasn’t he should feel like he could trust his Batman. Damian shouldn’t have spent the night trying to save himself or solve Nygma’s riddle. Coming into that room Dick was the one who was supposed to be in control of the situation, the one who was rescuing his kid, and it had all been the opposite. 

He continued running his fingers through his brother’s hair, it was still slightly damp from the sponge bath Alfred had given him while Dick was cleaning himself up. With his other hand, Dick fiddled with Damian’s blanket, adjusting it to make sure his brother was as comfortable as possible. 

It was terribly selfish of him to want Damian to wake up already. His brother needed his rest, but all Dick wanted was to tell him how proud he was of Damian’s quick thinking, and how sorry he was that Damian had to go through any of what he had that night. When Damian woke up, Dick would tug him into his arms, and hold him until he fixed the mistake he made tonight. 

Dick had almost started to doze, fingers still tangled in his little brother’s hair, when Damian shifted and groaned. Dick shot back up, fully awake, his attention fully on his brother. 

“Hey.” Dick kept his voice quiet in case Damian’s ears were aching. 

Green eyes opened to blink up at him, confused for a moment before Damian shot up from where he was laying. He yelped, arms wrapping around bruised ribs, and Dick moved to press him back into the bed. 

“Shh,” he soothed, “Lay back down, you’re okay. We’re safe, and back home.” 

Damian’s chest heaved under Dick’s palm, his eyes still wide and upset. He didn’t try to sit back up again. Instead he let Dick continue to talk, repeating what he’d said before, that he was safe, and they were home, and he didn’t have to worry. 

After a few minutes, the panic in Damian’s eyes faded and his breathing evened out. 

“Grayson?” he whispered. 

“Hello.” Dick smiled at him, “Feeling a little better?” 

Damian nodded, and reached out to adjust his blanket. He paused, attention dropping to his wrists with a frown. Dick reached out and took one of his hands, letting his thumb skim lightly over the white bandages wrapped around one of Damian’s wrists. 

“You got a little bruised and burned.” Dick explained. 

“The handcuffs?” he asked. 

Dick nodded, squeezing Damian’s hand, “You’ve also got a few bruised ribs, a nasty bump on your head, and a sizable hole in your leg that’s going to take a while to heal.” 

Damian coughed out a laugh, “Far longer than a simple concussion I assume?” 

“Oh much. The good news is that Alfred’s promised to let you run the comms when I return to patrolling.” Dick grinned at Damian’s surprised face and added, “I’m sticking around to make sure you’re alright before I go back out again.” 

His brother turned his head away from him, “You would trust me with the communication devices?” 

“Of course.” Dick said, “Why would you think I wouldn’t?” 

Damian’s hand slipped from Dick’s, and both gripped at his blanket, “You had to save me. I almost got us both killed by my delay in solving Nygma’s riddle.” 

Dick reached out and tilted Damian’s face back towards him, “Don’t be silly. You  _ saved  _ me. You figured things out far faster than I did, and got us out of there.”

His brother still didn’t want to meet his eyes. His own were rimmed red, the color bringing out the green with a watery sheen, Dick brushed Damian’s cheek with his thumb. 

“I’m so proud of you.” he said, “You did amazing. For all the night’s difficulties, you did so so good, kiddo.” 

He saw Damian swallow, and nod once, tight and sharp. 

“I’m the one who’s really sorry.” Dick continued, “I should have figured things out, and taken more time to listen to you so I could have disarmed that bomb and kept you from getting hurt. It’s my fault you’re going to be off patrol so long.” 

Damian’s eyes went wide, “No, no it’s my--”

“Stop.” Dick shook his head, “You’re my Robin. It’s my job to keep you safe, just as much as it’s yours to help me. Tonight it was my job. You’re supposed to be able to trust me and I let you down on all counts. Let me make up for it a bit by helping you feel better.” 

His brother frowned, “I do not want any pain medication.” 

“I was thinking a hug, some ice cream if you’re up to it, or just letting me snuggle close you can get a deep sleep.” 

“Oh.” Damian said, “Perhaps, a combination?” 

That was as close as Dick was going to get to Damian actually asking for a hug or him to join him sleeping, so Dick took it as an answer of “all”. He stood up, “I’ll get the emergency ice cream and be right back.” 


	12. Tear Stained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: referenced canon character death, a grumpy child, and some tears really this is mostly fluff and an exploration of Damian through a few years it's barely applicable to whumptober 
> 
> No editing we die like mne, no seriously it's 3 am I'm too tired for proper editing 
> 
> Thanks to Audreycritter for giving me the idea for this

It had been a month since Damian had begun living and training with Grayson. A month and he was still not allowed to patrol or do much beyond assisting the butler with communications. It was stifling, infuriating, and Damian was all but ready to quit. He stuck to it for pride’s sake alone. Grayson was all he had left to teach him his father’s techniques, and help him prepare for the mantle that would one day be his own. 

He was finding the penthouse as stifling as Batman’s rules. It was far smaller than Father’s manor, and the compound Damian had grown up in. He felt like a caged animal, pacing the floor of the main room, all energy with no sufficient output. 

Grayson was at home instead of out working, having been laid up after a bad night of patrol. One Damian could have helped prevent if he had been allowed to join the man. He had told Grayson this a number of times already, but had been rebuffed each time with thinner patience each time: “You’re not ready yet, Damian.” and “You know your dad didn’t let me patrol for a long time when I first became Robin.” and “With the way we work together both of us would have been hurt if you’d been out there. Stop arguing.” 

It was no surprise then that Damian being cramped, irritated, and now berated (Grayson was wrong, he would have _ helped _) would retaliate at his first opportunity. It came easily, Grayson had his injured leg elevated on the couch, his hands busy with knitting needles of all things. 

Damian sneered at him, “I did not know you participated in such a pathetic pastime.” 

Grayson simply hummed and continued his work. Damian could not tell what he was working on, the project was small, only just started in a yarn the color of red wine. 

It was foot stampingly frustrating how patient the man was when he wanted to be. Damian knew he was getting under Grayson’s skin, but for the life of him he had not been able to get an explosive reaction out of him since Grayson’s third. 

Damian tried not to think about that particular reaction, it had been too much like Father’s stern and furious reaction Damian’s first night knowing him. More terrifying even than Grandfather on one of his rages, but without the blood. It was that, the total lack of physical retaliation against Damian that had unsettled him most. 

Since then, his new mentor had attempted to keep a tight lid on his anger, which only made Damian want to rile him up more. Anything to get a reaction he was familiar with out of the man. Everything else in his world was too alien. Damian did not know what to expect or how to act. There was no rigid system to his life beyond the homeschooling Pennyworth was putting him through and Grayson was always saying idiotic things like ‘be yourself’. If he could prompt a response he was familiar with, then perhaps he could figure out what was truly right and wrong here. 

“I did not realize Batman would practice something so frivolous. Surely there are better things to do with your time. ” he huffed, “It is just another strike against your filling that position.” 

“Do you want to know what I’m making?” Grayson asked, at last looking up. 

Damian crossed his arms, “Tt, of course not.” he said, then stomped out of the room. 

~

The second time Damian came across Grayson knitting his brother was sick in bed. Damian was into his fourth month with the man, and feeling less frustrated and constrained. He’d finally been allowed to patrol, and after some ups and downs he and Grayson seemed to be finding a pattern. 

This was the first time since he’d begun going out as Robin that his brother had been this sick. He had a high fever, washed out face, and a nose as red as the stupid reindeer children sang about. Yet his face brightened when Damian entered, a tray of soup carefully balanced in his hands. 

“Pennyworth suggested I bring you some broth. I do not understand why it is supposed to help, you can hold down food as well as I, but he insisted it was a ‘cure all’.” 

Grayson set aside the progress, a long thin scrap of a thing with a line of dark brown, like the woods around the manor, added to the red Damian had seen earlier. It seemed the man was doing stripes on whatever project he had going. 

His brother caught him looking and smiled, bright and happy. Damian had learned that there was no malice behind that smile. It was as true as the man himself. Easy and familiar in a way that made Damian jealous. The jealousy frustrated him simply for existing. He should not wish to follow so weak a custom as smiling easily, with his whole body, in a way that spoke more volumes than words. He had no need to smile like that. 

“It’s a gift.” Grayson said, making Damian jump. 

“What?” he asked, soup sloshing. 

"The knitting, I’m making someone a gift.” 

Damian huffed, “I did not ask.” 

“Your eyes did.” 

He dropped the tray onto Grayson’s lap, heedless if it spilled or if drops splattered onto the knotted yarn, “It is still a foolish pastime.” 

~

He had been with Grayson half a year when the ‘gift’ was much larger, a beautiful cobalt blue had been added to the stripes, along with the beginning of emerald green. The shades blended together, like a secret spring in a forest draped in nighttime colors. Damian wished to reach out and touch it, but shame bubbled in his stomach. 

Grayson had kept the project hidden from him since his last outburst. Tucking it away often when Damian came in, or simply not working on it while he was present. It was obvious he’d been working hard on it, what once seemed like a pointless exercise was becoming something lovely, and all that work had gone on in secret because Damian was still learning to be kind. 

Like many aspects of Grayson, Damian did not understand the knitting, but he no longer scorned it. Half a year of working together had taught him much about his brother, and much about himself. Many of the things Damian had learned about his own nature were so contrary to Grayson’s he could not understand why the man put up with him, then or now. 

He was still unpleasant to be around. Damian knew this. He did not need Drake’s constant reminders or the scornful looks of party goers who had learned better to tell him. He saw it in himself, the dark, bitter current that ran through his personality like poison. 

“Want to watch?” Grayson asked, patting the cushion beside him. 

Damian bit back a sharp retort and instead nodded, settling gingerly onto the cushion like it would open up and devour him at any moment for merely wishing to see what his brother was working so hard on. 

Watching Grayson’s fingers deftly work the yarn, wrapping it around one needle, and then another, and the way he could slip all that under and over itself to create a neat knot of yarn building one and then another was mesmerizing. Damian did not know how long he’d sat there, relaxing into the seat and then his brother’s side before he found his words again.

“Who is it for?” Damian asked.

Grayson winked at him, “That’s a secret.” 

Damian huffed, but contented himself that he was allowed to continue to watch, the gentle click click of needles eventually lulling him into sleep.

~

They had been together almost a year when Grayson asked Damian if he wished to try his hand at knitting. They shared many things these days. From knowing looks to conspiratorial plots to overthrow Drake’s Minecraft kingdom, they’d grown close, like the lines of yarn spreading across what Damian could only guess to be a future blanket. 

The question threw him off guard. Grayson had taught Damian much in a year, but he had never seemed interested in teaching Damian knitting. They both had their own creative endeavors, and seemed content to keep them separate. Grayson did not keep Damian from watching him work, and Damian did not keep his brother from viewing his painting, but neither ever blended. 

Grayson held the partially completed project out to Damian, his eyes twinkling with a bit of mischief. 

“On your present?” 

“Of course. If you want to start a project of your own we can set that up, but if you just want to try it I see no harm in using this.”

Damian did not say, but what if I mess it up? That fear hummed under his fingers as he gently took the needles, and rested the considerably heavy weight of the blanket in his lap. He did not voice the honor he felt at being invited into this place he’d once scoffed at. 

He sat patiently and listened as Grayson explained the procedure. And bit his lip as his fingers felt clumsy working with the needles and yarn. Grayson was ever patient, helping him find a rhythm and correcting when he’d done something wrong. 

After an hour, Damian pulled the project back to find a line of green that was lumpier and looser than all the others. His cheeks burned with shame at ruining his brother’s project, but Grayson’s face was bright and delighted. 

“Hey great job!” he said. 

Damian did not feel at all that way, in fact he wished to pull out every stitch he’d done and return the project to the state it had been in prior to his engagement. He moved to begin picking at a stitch, when his brother’s hands fell over his own. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“It is ruined.” Damian said, “My work looks nothing like yours.” 

Grayson gently took the partially done blanket back from Damian, running his hand over Damian’s stitches. He shook his head, “It might not be perfect, but it’s your work. There’s no way I’m taking this out of here.” 

“But!” Damian started to argue only to have Grayson shush him. 

“Don’t worry, it’ll blend right in as I add more to it.” 

Damian didn’t quite believe him, but he left the stitches where they were, happy to have added his own touch to it.

~

Grayson’s gift was almost half done when he asked Damian to help him pack it into a box along with a number of other things from his room. Damian gathered the soft waves of stitched yarn hesitantly, his chest tight with anxiety. 

“Do we have to move?” he asked, the question bursting out of him in an exclamation that he would have immediately regretted a year ago. 

Explosions and questions like this wouldn’t have been tolerated by Mother, but Grayson took them in easy stride. Damian wondered if Father would do the same. He had few memories of the man, fewer still where he carried the same patience in him Grayson did. He held out hope, however, Grayson had told him many times that his view of Father was incorrect and if he gave the man a chance he’d learn just how good a parent he was. 

Damian’s anxiety was eased by the fact that both he and Grayson were returning to live at the manor with Father, but Damian knew it would not be a permanent move for his brother. He had a life of his own, one he was sure to want to get back to now that Father had returned. Damian just hoped he stayed long enough to prove everything he’d told Damian. 

“It won’t be that bad.” Grayson told him, “I can introduce you to all the best spots in the manor, and this time you can pick a room to really make you own.” 

He squeezed the yarn between two fingers, “I have already made a room my own here.” 

He did not say, ‘I am afraid no room at the manor will feel like my own’ or ‘this place is home’, but Grayson seemed to read it in his words all the same. He set down the lamp he’d been packing and moved to pull Damian into a side hug. 

“Change is scary, but I promise, Dames, it’ll all work out in the end. It can feel overwhelming and too much when you move, but getting used to it is easier than you think.” 

He let go of Damian and tugged the still unfinished blanket out of his hands, “My mom used to knit when we were on the move. We’d have all these long rides with little to do, so she’d create things. She taught me, but I didn’t really start to pick it up until I was older.” he flashed Damian a grin, “I was too energetic to sit long and work on something like this. The action though, always reminded me of her and home.” 

Damian nodded, “Then I am glad you are coming with me.” he said, “You will help make it feel like home.”

~

He came across Grayson working on it a number of times while he grew used to all the changes in his life. And watched it grow inch by inch, and stripe by stripe in stolen moments or whenever his brother was stuck at home recovering. It grew slower now, with an extra burst of busyness in Grayson’s life, but Damian liked seeing it’s progress. 

And then Damian had died. And been brought back to a world where Grayson had also died. It was as if the universe was playing a prank on him. Stripping everything away first in death, and then life. 

He found himself in Grayson’s room often now. It had still been used even after his brother had moved out. Grayson could never stay away long, and his memory lingered everywhere within it. There were clothes that smelled like Grayson. Pictures that gave Damian insight into the rest of his life. Books his brother had loved. 

And there, tucked in a chest by his bed, was the gift he’d been working on. He was sad to find that it had not grown at all since he had last seen it. He’d hoped that maybe there would be another sign of his brother’s life while he’d been away. 

It was sad, to see it left there, two thirds of the way completed, cut off before it could be wrapped and handed over with all the love it had stored in it to its intended recipient. Damian didn’t even know who it was for, this long worked on gift. 

He settled into his brother’s bed, and with fingers clumsier than his first attempt, he created a line of stitches. They looked ugly there, bulbus and unfit to sit within the others, all neat and perfect. 

Damian ran his fingers over them and then dropped his face into the bundle of yarn, deep sobs escaping his chest. He dragged the blanket to him, needles still worked into it and all, and held it with everything in him. 

He was not sure how long he sat there crying. It was only when fat tears seeped from the blanket into his clenched hands that he stopped, dropping it for fear that he’d stain it. Damian folded it carefully, and returned it to the chest, ball of yarn and needles set gently on top, and his new line of stitches still bunched up, fighting the neat lines he’d folded into it. 

~

Grayson returned, as everyone in Damian’s family seemed to, and it was like light was brought back into his life. Damian settled into a new routine of seeking out time to watch his brother work on the blanket. He settled into many new routines, but he wished to see the project through to its completion and know who it was intended for. Grayson still refused to tell him. 

Truth be told, Damian was jealous. The person Grayson gave the blanket to would have a real gift. Something soft, and made with love and patience, through good times and bad. Damian wanted to ask Grayson for one of his own, but there was something about asking for a handmade gift that gave him pause. 

Would it ruin the specialness he felt about it to ask? Would it be breaking some taboo? No one asked Damian for paintings, but when he gave them as gifts he always saw such happiness in those people. If they’d asked, would it be the same? 

He bit his tongue and refrained from asking, instead deciding to take the time spent watching as a gift. Grayson’s knitting had never lost its mesmerizing power, nor it’s relaxing sound. 

Damian missed Grayson finishing the blanket. He had been working on it more and more these days, as if he were finally in a hurry to get it done. There were times Damian settled in beside his brother and noticed a large change, and darker circles under his eyes than usual. 

And then it all stopped. Grayson did not tote the blanket around with him anymore. He was not constantly trailed by little flecks of green or blue yarn. His fingers stopped looking red with all the work he did. It was so sudden it felt like a loss. 

Damian’s own birthday was nearing, and he felt that urge again to ask Grayson to make him something. It was further fueled by the fact that he was done with his other gift, and perhaps now he would have time? 

Again, he kept his desire to himself. If Grayson wanted to make him something, Damian believed the man would do it on his own. Damian had made him plenty of things. He would not ask for something as special and consuming as Grayson had made for someone else. 

The want dug at him so badly that Damian decided, on the day of his birthday, to ask Grayson. He had learned that birthdays were treated much differently in Gotham than his own had been. His first year had been a simple celebration, tucked between busy days and patrols, but it had warmed Damian inside in a way he had not known before. 

This was far different. Loud and exciting, the manor was filled with his family as they all showed up for the event (they showed up for any birthday simply for Pennyworth’s cakes). Father insisted on doing something, especially since he had missed Damian’s last, and so he’d allowed the noise and games, and gradual overflowing of gifts. 

At the end of the night, Grayson pulled Damian aside and presented him with a lumpy package, obviously wrapped himself. Atop it, tied on with a ribbon, was a Robin plush toy. It was one of the new ones, released to match Damian’s own changes to the uniform. He had never once spoken a word of wanting one, but as always Grayson read what he did not say. 

“Really, Grayson? A doll?” 

“That’s not even the majority of the gift, Dames. Open the rest, you’ll sit it fits in perfectly.”

Damian huffed and settled on the ground, legs crossed, to open the gift. It was soft under his hands, probably clothing by the feel. Damian bit back a smile at the thought of it being Nightwing merchandise. It would be just like Grayson to do something like that. 

Paper broke away to reveal stripes of brown, red, blue, and green. The colors all deep and rich, the soft texture of their stitches familiar and warm under Damian’s palms. It came as no surprise to him when his vision misted, and his throat tightened against tears. 

Grayson’s gift rested in Damian’s hands, it’s perfect stitches marred in two places by Damian’s own attempts, the whole thing over sized and heavy in his arms. He did not realize he’d released his tears until one dropped onto the back of his hand. 

He blinked at it surprised. Then looked up at his brother. Grayson was kneeling before him, a gentle smile on his face. 

“I meant to get it to you last year, but I never had enough time to get it done. I refused to miss the deadline this time though.”

“I--” Damian’s words caught in his throat and he was terribly happy he’d let himself be pulled away from the family for this, “Thank you.” 

“It was always meant for you.” Grayson added, “First as something practical I knew you’d be able to accept, and then because you were so attached to it. There was no better thing to give you than something you both grew into.” 

“You are far too sentimental.” Damian sniffed, attempting to stop the flow of happy tears, “But you are also right, both parts do fit perfectly together.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with how long it would take to make a blanket. Just assume Dick didn't have much time to devote to it all at once, and maybe was doing a particularly tough pattern in the actual stitches. ; D


	13. Laced Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My late entry for day 21: Laced Drink. Part two will go up tomorrow or tonight...whenever I get it finished 
> 
> Warnings: drugs, a laced drink, kidnapping, vomit, migraines, some mild anxiety and panic

Damian despised galas. To him, they were pointless exercises that wasted his and his family’s time. He knew they were important to Father, but that did not stop him wishing he could be elsewhere. There were so many things Damian could be doing that did not include wandering through throngs of people. At the very least, Richard was here, even if he was spending most of the night enamored with Barbara. 

As quickly as he could, he slipped past two women chatting about the price of satin, his shoulders tight, hands curled into fists at his sides. He was hot, and his throat dry from the heat and his constant excuses given to nattering fools cooing over him or picking at him for information about his family. He scoffed, of course they would assume the youngest of the bunch was sure to have loose lips. They all thought he was the best target to scatter crumbs of scandal or corporate secrets he might have. 

He hated the crush of bodies, the noise of chattering nonsense, and the constant stream of music that hummed through the air. It was distracting, and pulled his attention in a million directions. There were too many people. Too much movement and conversation. They frayed his focus, keeping Damian from having a clear picture of what was going on, and preventing him from being able to tell who or what was the most dangerous. It stressed him out in a way little did anymore, setting off alarms and bells he could otherwise quiet. 

It was too much like old training situations. When he’d be tasked with keeping himself or a target safe while in a terrible crowd. Where Mother would have the least likely suspect stab him in the back or where hands would pull at him from every direction leaving Damian with no control, no way to protect himself or find safety. He knew the people around him were mostly benign, but his heart still pounded, his anxiety high when he was alone. 

Damian tried not to curl in on himself, and stood tall instead, darting past another group of people, some who called out to him, their voices like tendrils of smoke trying to hold him back with no strength. 

The bar was busy, but not so busy Damian could not wiggle through a set of different elbows to pop his head into view of the bartender. 

“Tea, with a slice of lemon please.” Damian asked the moment he had the man’s attention. 

Iced tea was not Damian’s preference, nor was tea at a party. At gala’s he preferred water, it kept him hydrated and did not vary in quality like tea would, but they did not give out bottles of water at these things. Damian refused to snag a loose drink from a waiter or ladle punch from an open bowl. There were too many opportunities for someone to mess with those, and in Gotham the chances grew more than other places. One never knew when a psychopath would decide to take a room full of rich party goers hostage, or if Scarecrow might wish to test a new strain of his toxin on Gotham’s elite. Everyone in his family treated food and drink at these parties with safety in mind, Father insisted on it. They only partook of things they could be sure had minimum contamination opportunities. 

Damian took the offered tea and tiny straw and ducked back away from the crowded people at the bar to hunt through the crowd for his brother and Barbara. They were far better company than the people everywhere around him, and Father would be occupied for another hour at least with interviews about whatever charity this gala had been put together for. 

The tiny straw in Damian’s drink didn’t provide enough tea to take as large sip as he wanted. Still he settled for using it, rather than moving the straw and drinking from the lip of the cup. There was less a chance he’d spill on himself this way, and even less a chance someone would bump him and dump his tea all over his suit. He would not suffer Pennyworth’s disappointment over someone else’s accident. Even with the resistance caused by the straw, Damian had the cup half drained already. 

He was anxious tonight, and could not tell why. His suit felt tighter than usual especially in all the wrong places, preventing his full range of motion. His hair felt itchy, full of product to ensure it’s muss was tamed and ‘not gelled in some wild fashion’ as Pennyworth declared it. The only part of him that was comfortable were his feet, snug in trainers because he refused to wear the pinching dress shoes Pennyworth had put out for him. He could get away with them because of his youth. He had declared that an eleven year old could and _ should _ get away with comfortable shoes at these parties and Father had allowed it. 

Richard and Barbara were laughing just at the edge of the crowd, close enough to still be in reach but far enough from people they were not being bumped. Just before Damian reached them, a man bumped Damian, making his drink slosh, and the straw spin, clink clinking against the few ice cubes in the glass. 

Damian shot a glare at the man who didn’t even seem to notice him, continuing past without hesitating. Richard’s voice calling his name finally made Damian turn. His brother had a bright smile on his face, Barbara was smiling as well. 

“Hey, Dames.” 

“Richard, Barbara.” Damian nodded at them, “You have found a quiet spot.” 

“The only quiet one around.” Barbara said, “You alright?” 

He was hot and flustered, and still irritated but at least he could breathe now. He shrugged, the ice in his glass clinking again. The noise was a bit grating on his ears, one more against all the others in the room. 

“I am fine.” He shot a glance back at the crowd, “There are simply too many people.”

Richard tugged him into a side hug, “I know that feeling. Hold out another hour or so and we can bail. Then it’ll be safe to say it’s your bedtime.” 

He squeezed Damian’s shoulder as he scowled up at him. Damian leaned in for a moment before tugging away. The crowd was still as busy as ever, and the last thing Damian wanted was to go back in. He would have to eventually, they did not come to these things to hide. He allowed himself ten minutes lingering on the edges, listening to Barbara and Richard chatter and sipping at his tea. 

After that he moved back into the crowd, doing his due diligence to chat and mingle as he was expected to. It was not long before everyone around him started to spin, the sounds growing too much, and the bundle of bodies growing into a blob. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. It worked momentarily before everyone was blurring again. He must be more tired than he thought. 

Damian stumbled, like his shoes had come untied, but when he looked down they were both still neatly bowed. He swallowed, his throat dry again, and sipped at what was mostly melted ice and a little tea left. He had to stop, and shut his eyes as the press of bodies around him continued to move, their closeness overheating him. His suit was too tight, his head too itchy, the noise too much. 

Someone brushed his arm. Damian’s attention jerked up at them, alert racing through his veins. It was just the bartender from before, his tie loosened, and a tray in his hand. He must have changed shifts. He said something, motioning towards the glass in Damian’s hand. Damian nodded, trying to figure out what the words were, before the glass, was plucked from loose fingers, and set on the tray. The bartender's now free hand pressed against his back. 

The contact tingled, another sense in too many going on. Damian was starting to feel sick. His vision was still a mess, making his stomach churn and his head feel foggy. He wanted Richard. Wanted to go home. He was tired, and there was something wrong. 

He reached out and tugged the man’s sleeve, “I need to find my brother.” he said, the words heavy in his mouth. 

The bartender nodded, and handed his tray off to another member of the waitstaff. He led him through the crowd, cutting between people better even than Damian’s small form had. At last he saw his brother, he’d returned to the crowd as well, and was chatting with Mrs.--Damian could not remember her name. He hated her gaudy too large jewelry and the clashing colors she insisted on wearing to every party, but her name felt lost to him.

Damian stumbled again and that hand steadied him. There was something wrong with all this, but his brain wasn’t working right. He wanted to run to his brother, but he couldn’t trust his feet in this crowd anymore. When the bartender guided him away from his brother he started to panic. This wasn’t where he wanted to go, he wanted Richard. He tried to turn back to find him again, but that hand kept pushing, the other moving to grab his wrist in an iron grip. Damian tugged, trying to pull away, but he couldn’t quite manage the strength. 

“It’s alright, we just need to go around the group.” the man said. 

This settled Damian until they stepped outside, the cool air sparking some awareness in him and blowing away bits of the fog. He yanked his hand out of the man’s with a scowl, and turned to hurry back inside, but an arm looped around his waist and pulled him up, into unfamiliar arms.

“Calm down, we’re going home.” the voice in his ear was gentle. 

Something in Damian’s head was saying no, like a distant alarm bell he should pay attention to, but he couldn’t quite act on it. He was also so tired. Being off his feet seemed to increase that feeling. He wanted to go home. That he knew, and he was being promised home. His head hurt, his vision still messy. It was easier to close his eyes and ignore the warning bells.

~

A great heave, and his body all but flying off something to land with a heavy thump on the ground below him woke Damian. His head bounced against the floor with a crack, and his elbow banged against something plastic and rough. It made his headache worse, and further hampered his vision with stars. 

Damian groaned, and blinked at the grey mass in front of him, a chair? Under his ear he could hear and feel mechanical humming, and when he shifted he felt the rough nature of carpet abused by muddy shoes one too many times. The light in his space came in waves, and after a moment Damian realized he was in a car. 

He tried to roll over from where he’d landed on his side, but he was hampered by his hands and feet being bound. At last he managed to shift so that his face wasn’t pressed so close to the seat he’d fallen from, and onto his back where he could get his bearings. The seats were a rough grey nylon, nothing like the soft leather of Father’s cars. The air inside had the lingering smell of old fast food, slightly sour and still somehow enough to make Damian’s stomach respond, protesting his inattention to it. 

It was obvious he’d been kidnapped, but Damian couldn’t place how or why. His head hurt and whatever he’d been drugged with was slowing his memory and ability to think. He wanted to remember, wanted to understand who he was dealing with, but his head wouldn’t cooperate. 

Instead of trying to remember, he changed tactics to focus on what he could do now. The floor between the front and back seats where he’d fallen didn’t have a lot of room. He attempted to push himself up, and after a few tries had almost managed it when the car turned, and his head was flung back into the chair he’d hit falling. 

For the next few minutes, Damian lay there trying to focus on anything but the headache that was quickly spiraling into a migraine. He squeezed his eyes shut, and still pain seemed to pulse against them. He hated drugs. And cars. And stupid kidnappers who couldn’t be bothered to make sure their hostages didn’t end up like bruised fruit tossed about in the back of a truck. 

His head had just started to feel a little better when the car turned onto a road that was so bumpy it had to be some sort of dirt road. Damian felt as if he were the wheels on a roller coaster as they jerked their way up the ride’s highest hill in a slow never ending ascension. He did his best to keep his head and body from crashing too many times into the floor, seats, and plastic cup holder, but it was hard tied up in an increasingly cramped space, and his actions still sluggish from the drug. 

When the car stopped at last, Damian’s headache had bloomed into a full blown migraine. He felt like a hundred nails had been pounded into it, from the inside and out. In turn, it made his stomach hurt worse. He wondered if throwing up might help or just make everything worse. It would at least get rid of any of the tea and drug lingering in his stomach.

He felt the car shift as the driver got out, slamming the drivers side door. A moment later, the one by Damian’s head opened.

“What the--” the man said, before letting out an amused huff. 

It was not amusing to Damian in the slightest, but he didn’t have time, or really the focus, to share his opinion. Hands hooked under his armpits and dragged him up and then out of the car. The movement was too much for his head and stomach, he leaned as far forward as he could and threw up. His captor yelped, and jumped back, still holding him. To Damian’s delight, he noticed he’d managed to at least partially hit the man’s shoes. Good. He needed some payback for his ill handling of Damian so far. 

“Come on.” there was a decidedly grumpy lilt to the man’s tone, “The sooner we get this done, the faster you’re out of my hands." 


	14. Bleeding Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: blood, gunshot wounds, drug mention, kidnapping
> 
> This is part two to Laced Drink now from Dick's point of view! With added Batdad!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what is editing? it's nonexistant at 1 am that's what

Dick checked his watch, it was later than he’d planned to let things go, but he’d found himself caught up in the tide of the party, and he’d neglected to keep a close eye on the time. Hopefully, Damian wasn’t too mad at him for letting things slip.

His brother had seemed frazzled when he’d sought Dick out earlier, but by the time he’d left he seemed fine. However, with Damian things weren’t always what they seemed. That thought only hastened Dick’s search for his brother.

After a sweep of the large room the party was set in, interrupted once or twice by party goers eager to chat , Dick still hadn’t located his brother. He decided to try texting him. Dick shot off a quick: _Where r u? Time to go home : D_. Then he did a circle of the outer edges of the room, thinking Damian might have found a corner to hide in if things had gotten too much.

Dick couldn’t help but be a little worried about his brother. He’d never enjoyed the parties they attended, and even as comfortable as he’d become in Gotham, every so often one of these things would set off bad memories for Damian. Dick should have paid more attention when he’d come over earlier, maybe he should have just taken him home already. It was better to be safe than force Damian to deal too long with something he was uncomfortable with.

His second search still didn’t reveal his brother, and he hadn’t yet gotten a text back. Damian wouldn’t ignore a text from him this long, even if he was chatting with someone. He’d have shot Dick a quick okay or thumbs up or something. Especially if he was wanting to go home.

It was starting to really worry Dick, even in a place still as crowded as they were, he should have been able to at least spot Damian by now. He grabbed Babs and asked her to be on the lookout for Damian, then made his way to the bar to see if Damian had been back, he’d seemed really thirsty, so maybe he’d grabbed another cup of tea.

“Hi.” Dick flashed the woman behind the bar a smile, “Have you seen a kid, eleven years old, dark hair tamed only by the application of way too much product, in trainers, and wearing a permanent scowl?”

The woman shook her head, “Sorry, I haven’t seen any kids since I started.”

Dick frowned, “I thought he got a drink earlier from here.”

“Well, to be honest, I only just got here. I was called in after the guy the company sent over bailed. Apparently he just decided to leave, no warning, no fake excuse for feeling sick, just poof.”

A suspicion rooted itself in Dick’s head, but he’d need to be sure first, “When did he leave?”

“Two hours ago? What time is it,” she glanced at a watch, “Yeah a little over two hours ago.”

Dick thanked her and left, anger and anxiety starting to churn in his stomach. He stopped a few people here and there to ask about Damian and finally got a woman who remembered seeing him.

“I saw him with one of the waitstaff, he looked pretty pale, sick, and kind of unfocused? I assumed they were trying to find Mr. Wayne.”

He had to swallow growing anger hearing that. Not at the woman, but the bartender turned kidnapper. Dick was sure Damian wasn’t at the party anymore, and that he hadn’t been for a while now. He could only hope the guy hadn’t found the tracker Damian had on him, the same one all the Wayne kids wore when they attended any outing where they were at risk.

All that was on his mind was finding Damian, but couldn’t run after him and tell no one at all. He found Babs and let her know the situation, then he went to find Bruce. The man caught his mood immediately and pulled Dick to a more private corner.

Dick didn’t waste any time, “Damian’s gone, taken by the bartender. I think he was drugged.”

“How do you know?” Bruce asked.

“One of the guests saw them leaving together, and mentioned Damian was looking out of sorts. The current bartender said she just got in, replacing the walkout.”

His dad nodded, “His phone?”

“Off or not on him. He hasn’t even read the text I sent. I let Babs know, she’s going to pull the info on his tracker the moment she gets out of here.”

Dick could see the tension rising in Bruce’s shoulders, and hear worry in his voice. No matter how capable any of them were, Dick knew it tore Bruce up when something happened to one of them. His whole being had gone from caution to ‘let’s go now’.

“We’re leaving.”

Dick was anxious the whole ride to the closest safe house containing both their uniforms. He wouldn’t rush Babs but he wanted to. If he’d just taken Damian home when he’d shown up upset, if he hadn’t been so distracted by the party, if he’d caught onto things sooner, then maybe they wouldn’t be rushing to find him.

Before Babs got back to them, Bruce’s phone pinged, his ringtone for Damian going off. It pinged again, right after, and Dick saw his dad’s jaw tighten in fury. Dick crowded him, pushing to get a look at the screen. Bruce handed it over and Dick felt the same anger bubbling up in him.

The phone displayed an image of Damian, with a growing bruise on his head, tied to a chair and gagged. The woman Dick had talked to had described Damian as pale and unfocused, this Damian was worse, he looked sickly and half conscious, his attention anywhere but the camera. If Dick had to guess, he’d been drugged further than what it had taken to get him out of the building. Either because he’d caused trouble, or because his captor didn’t want trouble. Or maybe whatever he'd been given had fully kicked in. Whatever it was, his kid brother was helpless and in the hands of someone who's intentions were unknown. The second message was a ransom note, with an amount, date, and time.

If he had half a clue as to where Damian was, Dick would have stormed from the building that moment. As it stood, he handed Bruce his phone back, and started triple checking his gear.

“We’ll get him back.” Bruce said, a hand on Dick’s shoulder.

His voice was a rumble like thunder, somehow both comforting and promised that he was feeling the same way Dick was. Only, Bruce hadn’t had the opportunity to take Damian home early. He hadn’t seen his brother minutes before his kidnapping. Hadn’t talked to the kid while some drug was working its way through his veins, slowly eating away at the defenses Damian had spent years building.

Babs called at last. Damian’s tracker had been damaged but she’d managed to get a lock on its general location. After digging through the bartender’s personal files she found an old farmhouse in his parent’s names set snugly within the area Damian’s tracker was in.

They left the moment they had the address.

Bruce parked the batmobile a ways from the farmhouse, tucked within some of the surrounding trees. Together they snuck towards the building. The lack of buildings around them left Dick uneasy, aside from the farmhouse there was a large barn, and nothing else in clear view beyond the treeline. There weren’t many places on Gotham’s outskirts like this. Few spots of land had enough space to feel as open as this one did. It made Dick feel naked, with no deep shadows to hide in or buildings to climb or use to hide.

There were two entrances, a front door and a back. The windows were shuddered, heavy curtains pulled across to prevent view. The driveway was empty of a car, but it could be parked anywhere else. Either that, or the owner wasn’t home. That thought spurned worry in Dick that maybe Damian wasn’t here, but Babs wouldn’t have gotten things that wrong, and she hadn’t reported any movement from him since they’d left.

Dick almost hoped it was just Damian in the house. Getting him out when he was alone was far safer than dealing with another person, who might or might not be armed, but would be on the defensive no matter what. If he was by himself then no one would be hurt and they could take their time tracking down the kidnapper. The only disappointing outcome to that situation would be that Dick wouldn’t be able to pay the man back right away for snatching his brother.

They split their search to opposite ends of the house. Bruce took the front and Dick the back. There was silence as they both entered, long dragging moments of nothing on the comms.

The room Dick entered into was a kitchen, tidy with pans lining a wall and nice, if a little old, appliances. He crept through it, feet on linoleum, but still careful for any noise he might make. His ears strained, either for Damian or Bruce. The room was lit enough he didn’t need his night vision, but could blend into shadows if he needed it.

There was a hall outside the kitchen, and as Dick crept he couldn’t help but glance around him, trying to learn about the man who’d taken his little brother. There were a few photos on faded wallpaper, but little else to give him a clue.

He ran into Batman in the main living area, and found it as empty of occupants as Bruce had. Together they made their way up the stairs, then split off again in opposite directions to check bedrooms.

Dick eased one of the doors open, then let it swing wide when he saw his brother, lit by moonlight alone. He didn’t hesitate to run in, his attention scanning the room to clear it before falling on his brother. Damian jerked when Dick knelt before him, a wild, panicked look on his face.

“Hey.” Dick kept his voice soft, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.”

This close he could hear how Damian’s breaths were shallow, and rabbit fast through his nose. Dick reached for the gag to undo it and whispered soothing words when his brother tensed again. He got it off, and his brother coughed.

“Dames, look at me?” Dick asked, tilting his face up.

It was hard to tell, but Damian still seemed pale, washed out in the moonlight. His focus was distant, but perhaps not as lost as he’d seemed in the photo. At Dick’s touch, Damian whined and turned his head like he wanted to pull away. Dick got him untied and tugged into his arms without even a moment of resistance or fight from the kid.

He’d held Damian a few seconds when the child began to stir, arms slipping up to wrap around Dick’s neck. He shifted so his head was resting on Dick’s shoulder.

“Nightwing?” his voice was tiny, uncertain.

“There you are.” Dick couldn’t hide his smile from his voice or face, “Feeling rough?”

“Sick.” Damian grumbled, “My head hurts.”

The mere admittance of both, even under the influence of drugs, meant Damian was feeling terrible. Sick was probably indicative of whatever was running through his system, plus the headache. Dick gave him a light squeeze.

“We’ll get you home soon, then you can sleep off the worst of it.”

“Thought you were the bartender at first.” Damian whispered, “Sorry.”

Dick was moving out of the room now, but slowed to turn his head to press a kiss to Damian’s temple, feeling a lump under his lips.

“It’s alright.” he said, then added, “You’re pretty bruised up, eh?”

“Like a peach.” there was a note of bitterness to Damian’s voice, “He left me in the backseat to bounce around like a bunch of loose cans.”

Dick chose to take the stairs slowly, and with as even of steps as he could manage. He sighed, shifting a hand to rub at Damian’s back, “Aww, Sweetheart.”

This earned him an irritated huff.

He figured turning his attention somewhere else while Damian got over his embarrassment would save him from an improvised stabbing, “Found him.” Dick said, flicking on his comm.

Bruce was in his ear the next moment, “Get him to the car while I finish up here.”

Dick figured Bruce was collecting evidence, or more information on how to find the guy again. He could hear rustling over the comm, like papers being shifted. Bruce’s voice picked up again after a second.

“How’s he doing?”

“Bumped and bruised, but he’s conscious and lucid enough to be angry at endearments.”

“I’m fine.” Damian mumbled into Dick’s shoulder.

Dick smiled, and tightened his hold just enough he could let go with one hand to open the front door. He peered out of it, seeing no one, and then strolled out. Dick was a few feet down the driveway when Damian yelled out from his shoulder.

“Behind you!”

Dick turned just in time to see a man, hurrying around from the side of the house with a gun in his hands. Dick's first thought was that he couldn’t let Damian get hit. His second was to duck for cover he knew was not there. He turned and ran. Distance, he needed to get distance, and make time for Batman to exit the building to stop the guy.

The familiar crack of a gun cracked through the air. Fire and pain exploded in his leg, and Dick fell forward, tucking Damian to his chest, a hand cradling the back of his head for padding, instinctively trying to keep him safe even as they both went down. He hit the ground, his own head slamming against concrete, sparking white in his vision and stars.

His ears were roaring, and under that he heard high, terrified screams. Some part of his mind supplied the source: Damian. But he couldn’t do anything to change the fact that his limbs didn’t feel his own, his leg a constant source of agony, distracting even the briefest of thoughts to move.

“Nightwing!” his brother below him was thrashing, shaking Dick’s head and leg.

He squeezed Damian closer, he had to keep him safe, had to keep anyone from getting him again, had to make sure he didn’t get hurt.

“Richard!” The voice was not as loud, but teary and almost too quiet, “Please.”

His name, in that voice, with tears, snapped Dick out of his shock. His leg was still on fire, and his head fuzzy, but his brother was panicking in his arms.

“Sorry.” he coughed, “I’m okay. It was just my leg.”

“Your head is bleeding.”

Dick pushed himself up onto his elbows so Damian could shift a bit. Damian's hands went straight to Dick’s head to check the injury.

“Just cracked it a bit, I’ll be okay.” Dick gave him a wobbly smile.

Damian frowned at him, then turned to crawl all the way out from under him, “I will stem the bleeding on your leg, where is Batman?”

“Coming.” Dick said. He thought Bruce might have yelled into his ear after the gunshot, but he couldn’t be sure.

The word was hardly out of his mouth when Damian was yanked up before him with a yelp. The kidnapper had him hauled up against his chest. Damian yelled, and immediately set to trying to get away, kicking and digging his fingers into the flesh of the man’s arm. The guy's other hand still held the gun. In a move he aimed it down, right at Dick’s head.

“Stop or it’ll be your fault Nightwing dies tonight.”

Damian froze.

Dick’s mind was racing. How to get up and disarm the guy? He knew Damian would back him up, but even with adrenaline running through his veins he wasn’t sure how fast Damian would be. The last thing he wanted was the guy making off with his brother again.

The gun, and man pulled away from Dick slowly backing up. A batarang flew out, digging into the man’s hand on the gun, and it dropped to the ground with a clatter. Dick snatched it, aiming it up at him in an instant.

“Drop the kid.” he demanded.

One glance between Nightwing and Batman, made the decision for the guy. He let go of Damian who landed on his feet at first, then tumbled to his knees. Batman made quick work of restraining the kidnapper, then gave him a swift blow, knocking him out cold.

“Father, Richard is bleeding out!” Damian’s voice was still high, laced with panic.

“Calm down.” Bruce’s voice was a rumble, much softer than his Batman growl, designed to calm both sons collapsed in the dirt.

Dick felt him kneel beside him and shot a smile, “It’s not that bad.”

Bruce grunted, attention going to Dick’s leg. Dick watched Damian, he looked like he wanted to lurch forward to help, but his face was still pale. The adrenaline high was fading fast, and the clarity it gave would go with it.

Things moved quickly. Bruce called the car as he got a compression bandage wrapped around Dick’s leg. The bullet had made a clean exit, and Bruce muttered something about it not doing too much damage. Dick’s adrenaline was fading as fast as Damian’s, his attention scattered.

Next he knew they were in the car. And the cave, cold, with Alfred and Bruce over him. He was out for a long while after that. When consciousness came back, it did so reluctant and slow. He was in his room at the manor, tucked into his bed.

Pressure was buried in Dick’s side, and when his vision had cleared enough, he turned his head to find Damian, head bandaged, and sound asleep. He was curled, fists tangled in Dick’s shirt, a worried scowl on his face. Dick shifted just enough to press a kiss to his hair. It eased the scowl on his face to something more neutral.

“He wouldn’t let me take him to bed.” Bruce said.

He was settled in a chair by Dick’s bed, tablet in his lap. His eyes roamed Dick’s face, searching for signs of pain or distress. Truth be told, Dick’s leg felt great. Probably the result of a lot of pain killers, but he’d take it for now.

“He’s stubborn like that.”

Bruce laughed, a surprised almost coughed noise, “You know he slept in the car, then woke up long enough to make trouble. I had to remind him he was still drugged and couldn’t help stitch you back together. Instead he me swear to keep him close before passing out again.”

Dick tangled a hand in Damian’s hair, careful of the bandage, “I’m sure he was blaming himself. I’ll have to set him right when he wakes.”

His dad’s features softened, “It wasn’t anyone’s fault. None of tonight was.”

“Setting me straight, hm?”

“I know my kids.”

Dick smiled at him, “You do. You know what would make tonight better for all of us?”

“I can guess.” Bruce set his tablet aside onto the table, and slid into bed by Dick.

There was plenty of room for him to fit. Still, Bruce was careful as he settled in, something Dick was thankful for. Painkillers or not, the more sleep faded, the more he began to feel the hole in his leg.

Bruce tugged them both close to him, pressing a kiss first in Dick’s hair, then Damian’s, “Back to sleep with you. I’ll be here when you both wake up.”


	15. Secret Injury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are nearing the end of the month, and if I only managed about half the prompts I think that's okay. It's still far more than I've done before and I'm pretty proud of what I've produced. There's at least one more fic coming after this, maybe two if I can get them written, but my whumptober is winding down with the month.
> 
> Warnings: blood, injury, anxiety

Damian paused as Nightwing moved ahead to scope out the factory Gordon had suggested they check out. It had been hit in a string of robberies spanning the last two weeks. It should be an easy investigation. Go in, find clues, and get out. Grayson was simply checking to make sure there was no activity before they moved down. 

They’d already taken down a group of thugs, and stopped a break in at a bank. It was all normal, and things that would not even cause sweat let alone the perspiration on Damian’s neck, and slithering down his spine. His discomfort was his own fault. He’d allowed an idiot with a knife too close and was sporting a gash along his right side. At the time, Damian had discounted it as a scratch, and had not even brought it up. A few blood soaked bandages later proved him wrong. 

Problem was, he couldn’t admit it. He could, but Dick would give him that look, the one that said he was disappointed. That felt worse and worse to get the longer Damian knew him. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even bother to remind Damian that they’d talked about hiding things, he would simply sigh. But Damian knew, he could see it in his brother, how he thought it was somehow his fault not Damian’s. 

Damian did not want to do that to him tonight. Secretly, he was hoping they’d be attacked and he could attribute the injury to that. His best option was simply to wait for patrol to be over and deal with the injury himself. The mere thought of hours more patrolling was daunting, but he could manage it. He had to. 

“Looks clear.” Nightwing said, rejoining him, “You ready, Robin?” 

"Of course. Perhaps with me by your side we will actually find something useful tonight.” Damian straightened from where he’d curled a bit, protective of his injury. 

Thankfully, Dick did not take unneeded notice of it. They made their way down to the ground, then into the building. There they split up, Damian scouring the ground floor, and his brother taking the offices above. 

Damian examined the equipment with a cursory eye, none of the robberies had reported vandalism on the count, so he doubted he’d find anything there. It was the pallets, stacked high with boxes of, packed lightbulbs, that interested Damian. 

Stolen from the factories was a random assortment of items. Things Damian did not think anyone deemed good enough to break the law for, and certainly not something one would expect to be stolen from the factories themselves. It was odd stuff, like all of the cleaning supplies for one, and the lights out of another. Which made this place odd, since they manufactured lights, and yet none had been reported stolen from here. 

There was something else going on here, which was why Nightwing and Robin were on the case. It would have been Batman and Robin, but Batman was battling intergalactic space whales in some sector Damian had already forgotten the name of. 

It was nice to patrol with Grayson again. Damian had missed it sorely, and while he loved his father and working alongside him, there was something wonderful about being with his brother. They’d been together a number of times since Grayson had left to return to his old mantel. No matter how much time they spent together, he was always excited to be with his brother. So much had changed and he enjoyed the reminder of the old comfort he’d felt living with Grayson.

This was also a reason Damian was hesitant to share his injury. It was silly, but some part of him was afraid. That because things were different, perhaps Grayson himself was, or their relationship was. If he admitted to the fear, then how would Grayson react? Now that Father was Damian’s guardian, would Grayson’s endless patience finally run out? Would he decide that this was the final straw and cut ties with him now that Damian was no longer his responsibility? Or would he assume Damian was a lost cause and not worthy to patrol with anymore because he could not learn?

Even if it had been an accident. And even though Damian had not truly thought it bad till later. Would it still count as a mistake?

It was a stupid, foolish, worry. But it was one that picked at Damian’s mind all the same. He pushed it as far aside as possible, and turned back to the boxes and boxes of light bulbs. 

One looked recently opened, it’s tape slightly clearer than the others around it. It made sense that someone might have checked inside it during the police investigation. But it might have been someone else. He stepped up onto the pallet to get closer to it and slipped a batarang out to slice the tape open himself. 

He pulled the box open, raising one of the flaps high and peered inside. His head was starting to feel light, and Damian thought he might insist they return home the next time he saw Grayson. He wasn’t sure he could last another three hours. 

As he leaned forward to get a better look, his wound twinged, sending sharp pain up, through his arm, and hand. It spasmed, and he dropped the batarang inside. It hit with a clink, then before Damian could reach in and retrieve it, the thing slid down, clinking its way past stacked bulbs. 

Damian swore under his breath, and reached in. The bulbs in this box were long fluorescents, stacked atop one another with some loose cardboard here and there to prevent breaking. He rooted around in it and only heard the stupid thing slip even further away from his hand. 

The box itself was quite large. Half Damian’s size, and big enough for him to fit easily inside if he’d wanted to. He leaned even further forward, bending and gritting his teeth at the way his injury brushed against the lip of the box, fingers scrambling for the lost batarang. 

Bent like this, his head felt even lighter. He was a bit off balance, raised up on his tiptoes to be able to reach inside like he was. Damian tried pulling it forward, to help him find the stupid batarang. As he did, the lights shifted too. They slid towards him in a rush. All of a sudden, the whole thing tipped forward, and Damian stumbled backward, foot slipping off the pallet, and he went tumbling backwards, a flood of bulbs and box following him. 

His foot still on the pallet caught between planks of wood sticking and twisting as he fell. Glass crashed and shattered as Damian hit the ground. A number of aches and pain came to him in waves. His side, aflame again as it had been pummeled with lights. Then his head, throbbing where he’d connected with the floor. And finally his ankle, sharp and achy at any slight movement. His foot was still stuck, turned at an awkward angle in the pallet. He could feel the pressure of his body and gravity pulling on it. 

“Robin!” Grayson’s worried voice preceded him only by a minute as he raced down to the mess Damian had caused below. 

“I slipped.” Damian said, still flat on his back where he’d landed, then added, “It was no one’s fault but my own.” 

This seemed to ease some of Grayson’s worries. He stopped looking around for attackers and turned his attention fully on Damian. He took stock of the spilled and broken lights, and Damian’s own prone form, somewhat like a doll fallen partially from it’s stand. 

He knelt beside him, and with careful hands extracted Damian’s foot from the pallet. Every movement sent sharp pain up his leg, but Damian bit back any noise as his brother worked it free. It wasn’t the worst of his paint tonight by far. He did yelp when Grayson began tugging his shoe off, and again when gentle fingers probed already swelling flesh. 

“I don’t feel a break. We’ll ice it and elevate it at the cave.” 

Damian nodded, teeth grit against the way everything ached all over. 

“You’re clumsier tonight than usual.” Grayson said, a hint of humor to his voice, “Sleepy or something?” he was turned mostly away from Damian, setting his foot down beside the boot that was not going back on any time soon. 

“Not quite.” Damian managed. 

Something in Damian’s tone made him turn. From Grayson’s angle by his foot, he had a clear view of Damian’s injured side. Damian realized this a moment before his brother caught sight of the blood, leaking lazily out from the pathetic bandage Damian had slapped over it. 

“What happened? Did you get hit by glass?”

Damian bit his lip. It was obvious with the bandage, curling a bit on one end from how wet it was now, that this was not fresh. 

“Robin.” 

Damian could hear it, that disappointment he’d wanted to put off. It twisted in his chest, tight and hot. If asked, Damian would blame the watering of his eyes on one of the sources of pain in his body. As it was he blinked them back and swallowed against a thick throat. 

“It happened earlier. In the moment, I believed it to be less than it was.” he said, “I was going to tell you when we were done here.” It was technically the truth, Damian had decided to inform his brother of his injury, it was simply a recent decision. 

It was coming. That’s all Damian could think. That Grayson’s rejection would be coming any second now. He’d failed. He’d lied. He’d screwed up their search. 

“We’ll discuss it at home, for now I’m going to have to at least replace that bandage here.” Grayson told him. 

He pulled the bandage off and those tears sparked in Damian’s eyes spilled slightly. He ran a hand across his face and swallowed.

“How is it?” 

“Irritated.” Grayson answered, “But not so bad we can’t get you home before stitching it up.” 

Damian nodded, and looked to the ceiling as his brother applied a compression bandage. It hurt, and the pressure made the pain feel worse in different places. Like pinching and throbbing against the bandage itself. His head was still airy, and all Damian could focus on was Grayson’s declaration they’d talk about things at home. 

He was in trouble. He’d withheld information. It would have been fine if he’d been able to take care of things on his own, but he hadn’t. He’d let an injury impact the mission. Damian could hear Mother in his ear. If he had been home with her a failure like this would be unacceptable. Grayson had to be tired of Damian’s lies at this point. Sick of how he never seemed to change.

This evening had been an anomaly of late. He’d grown so comfortable with Grayson, and trusting of his family, he had less reservations about hiding things. Luck had ruined him. A lucky strike and irrational fear, and now? It might be true. 

Grayson lifted Damian into his arms, and Damian didn’t argue. It was obvious to them both he wasn’t walking on his ankle, red and already doubled in size. He couldn’t look his brother in the eye, and turned his head away from Grayson’s face. 

The ride home was silent. It left Damian to stew in his uncertainty, and convince himself Grayson was furious. His brother was explosive when angry, but never ever explosive with him. With Damian, Grayson grew silent. He would sometimes yell if pushed, but caught himself more and more through their partnership. So much so that Damian knew the heavy silence over his brother had to be anger, the lid tight and tighter still to prevent a bubbling over of the pot. 

Because of the silence, Pennyworth was surprised when they pulled in. Damian watched the surprise fade as Grayson pulled him from the car, back into his arms. He was still gentle. Grayson was always gentle with Damian when he was hurt, even if he was so angry it would take hours (and a few destroyed punching bags) to calm him. 

As he was settled onto a gurney Damian found himself wanting to call out to Grayson. It was inane, because if Grayson was angry Damian shouldn't want him close. Anger in the league meant pain. It was sharp words and sharper punishments. It meant rough hands, and stitches pulled with a fury Damian flinched from. 

But Grayson was always gentle handing him, gentle with stitches, and bandages. Gentle wrapping sprains, or washing injuries. Damian’s nerves were so frayed and fractured he needed that safety. Even if harsh words followed, or rejection came, Damian wanted his brother. He reached out for Grayson’s hand as the man turned to speak with Pennyworth.

“Stay.” his voice cracked. 

Grayson squeezed his hand back and turned to Pennyworth, “Would you mind heading upstairs and making some warm drinks? I should be able to patch Damian up on my own.” 

Pennyworth left with no arguments. Then Damian and Grayson were alone together. While Grayson collected medical supplies, Damian attempted to pull himself out of his uniform. He got his cape and vest off, but was having trouble with his undershirt when Grayson returned. 

“Let me help.” Grayson said. 

Damian jerked away, top still half off, his side screaming, “I can do it.” he snapped.

He heard Grayson sigh, but the man didn’t move to help him further. Damian tried to pull his shirt off again, and yelped as he instead stretched his wound again. His face was hot. If he couldn’t even manage this what good was he?

“Dames.” Grayson’s voice was soft, but insistent, “Let me?” 

Damian allowed it, averting his gaze from his brother. Stress and fear bubbled up in him, fighting with the desire to relax and let Grayson take care of everything. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped at the fabric underneath him as Grayson cleaned his injury, and worked on numbing the inflamed skin. Neither of them spoke until Grayson had gotten the sutures in. 

Before he moved to work on Damian’s ankle, Grayson pulled a chair up to Damian’s bed and looked him over, “You’re upset.”

“Are you?” Damian asked instead of confirming. 

Grayson jerked back like he’d been shocked, “Not nearly as much as you seem to think.”

Damian examined his brother’s face, his heart racing. “I’m sorry.” he said, the apology bursting out of him, “I messed up. I know I should have told you, but I didn’t realize, and then it was late and would seem like a lie. I did not mean to disappoint you, or fail as I did. I can understand if you are upset but I will do better, tonight was--” 

His brother stopped the flood of words with a gentle shushing. 

“I was upset you hid an injury, but I can tell you were conflicted about it.” he took Damian’s hand in his, “Don’t ever be afraid to tell me or your dad, or any of us that you’re hurt, even if it’s later.” 

Damian nodded, “You do not think I have messed up too much?” It was a bold question Damian wouldn’t have asked a year ago, but one he wanted an answer to. 

“If I thought that, I’d have to count your dad out for all his repeat offenses, and myself too. You’ve grown a lot, Damian. Don’t discount that. Now let me take care of that ankle and we can both wash up and head to bed. I don’t know about you but I’m beat.” 

When all was said and done, Damian felt as ‘beat’ as Grayson had said he was. With the relief of knowing his brother was not furious nor ready to shun further contact with him, exhaustion took over. Pennyworth did bring down warm drinks for them after they were both cleaned up. Damian sipped at his cocoa while Grayson typed up a final report for the night, peppering in his own reminders for his brother. 

His eyes were heavy as he let Grayson carry him to bed, “Before I knocked everything down I had a theory.” he said through a yawn. 

“Oh?” Grayson asked. 

“What if instead of stealing, they’re adding something?” Damian posed. 

Grayson squeezed him, “That’s a fantastic idea! We’ll have to explore that tomorrow night, you of course from the computer.” 

Damian was too warm and content to argue, “Of course it is. It makes the most sense.” 

They’d made it to his room. Grayson tucked him in and brushed his hair off his head, “I’ll never give up on you. You know that right?”

Damian nodded, eyes even heavier now that he was in bed, warming his sheets. “Thank you.” 

Grayson pressed a kiss to his head, “Sleep well.” 

Damian was already out by the time Grayson left the room. 


	16. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 (yes 3) of what was dubbed Sad Boys while it was a wip. This is the last part of this little series and I hope you guys enjoy it! 
> 
> Part 1 was Shackled (chapter 7)  
Part 2 was Numb (chapter 8)
> 
> Warnings: mentioned character death, panic, blood, anxious worry, some swearing this one's hard to tag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might do one more fic for tomorrow, but if I don't I want to thank everyone so much for keeping up with me this October. It's been a lot of fun to write these, and I've been overwhelmed by how many people have enjoyed these little stories (often two parts klfjsdjks because we all know I don't write short). You guys rock!

Dick was just walking into his apartment when his phone rang. Tim’s name flashed on the screen and a picture of him grinning, his hair a mess as Bruce’s hand was tangled in it. 

“Thank you for calling Pizza Hut, how can I take your order?” Dick said, picking up the call.

“You need to come home, _now_.” Tim’s voice was urgent. Terrified, in fact. 

At his tone, Dick’s heart jumped into his throat. A hundred possibilities invaded his mind. Something had happened to Bruce. Alfred? Damian? All of them? Had there been an accident? A kidnapping? 

“Tell me what happened,” Dick said, trying to keep his tone even, “and don’t panic talk. Take a deep breath and explain.”

Tim sucked in air and held it for a moment before Dick heard his slow exhale, “I messed up, Dick! I was trying to help Damian, and I think he’s stuck, and it’s bad, it’s getting bad and it’s only going to get worse, andIneedyouherebecauseyouknowthisthingbetterthanIdo. Sojustcomehome _ please _.” 

The first part had made sense, but Tim’s explanation had turned into a jumble of words all said in a breath as deep as his steadying one had been. 

“No one died though, right?” Dick confirmed. 

“No. But Dick... move like someone did.” 

Tim didn’t have to tell him twice. He made it to the manor in record time, and bolted down the stairs leading to the cave. Tim was standing at the entrance for him, foot tapping furiously on the ground like he was a speedster asked to wait just a minute. 

“Good, come on, we can’t waste any time.” Tim grabbed Dick’s arm and dragged him through the cave to a section Dick didn’t use often. 

Well, he didn’t use it often _anymore _. Tim had pulled him over to the spot they had the virtual reality simulator set up. Dick remembered the last time he used it, seated across from Bruce as they tried to find out if there was a way to have prevented Damian’s death. It made his stomach turn thinking about how desperate he’d been. How much it had hurt to exist in a world without his baby brother in it. Not long after that Dick had joined Spyral, he’d taken his chance at being ‘dead’ and run with it, hiding from all the pain.

But Damian was back, and settled into the very seat Dick had spent so many hours in. He couldn’t see his brother’s face for the helmet over it, but his whole body was stiff as if whatever he was doing was the most terrifying thing in the world. 

“I can’t get him out.” Tim said, voice shaking, “I’ve tried everything, Dick.” 

“What do you mean?” Dick said sharply, turning now to his brother, “He can’t be stuck.”

“Yeah, well he is.” Tim snapped, fear turning to anger, “There was some kind of surge in the system and I can’t get it to turn off.”

Dick looked back at Damian and the machine, none of the screens were on, so he couldn’t see what his brother was doing inside the simulation, “What were you two doing?” he asked, turning to Tim again. 

“Training simulation. B’s been on us hard to prepare for the unexpected so Dames and I have been taking turns at the simulation. You know, running worst case scenarios and stuff.” Tim’s attention moved to Damian now, “We spot each other to make sure things don’t get out of hand.”

Dick had never heard Tim call Damian _ Dames _. It was too affectionate for their usual relationship, tense and fraught with explosive arguments. Tim had to be pretty worried to make a slip like that when talking about Damian. Either that or they’d been spending more time together than Dick had thought. He’d been away for a while working, but he hadn’t thought it’d been that long. 

“I’d been keeping an eye on his progress when something flickered across the screens and the controls went black, but the machine stayed on. Some kind of power surge I think.” Tim explained. 

“Can’t we just take the helmet off?” Dick said, maybe with a little more anger than Tim deserved. But his stomach was churning, thinking about how the simulation would just keep getting harder and harder for Damian if it was programmed to run worst case scenarios. 

Tim shook his head, “It’s dangerous. He’s been in almost an hour now so it’s likely he’s so wrapped up in things he’s forgotten it’s a simulation, so if we just pull him out it could cause some serious damage. We could have Damian but his mind might be stuck inside.” 

Dick swore. “Alright, then let’s take a look. The least we can do is get the screens on to see what he’s dealing with and how fast we need to work.” 

He moved to the console and started working with the machine. It took a while, but eventually Dick fixed things so the screens flickered to life. He glanced up, seeing Damian curled in the passengers seat of the Batmobile, drenched in blood. It was spread across his torso and seeped into his pants, and flecks of it were smeared across one cheek. Dick examined him for a moment, making sure the blood wasn’t Damian’s before he moved back to the computer. Tim could keep an eye on what was going on inside, Dick had to get his brother out. 

“Tim, keep watch on what’s going on in the simulation and let me know if things get worse for Damian, alright? I’m going to do what I can to get this thing working right again.” 

“Just hurry, Dick.” 

He didn’t have to remind Dick of the situation’s urgency, Dick was well aware. He turned his full attention to the machine. Normally, he would have expected Tim to call Babs with a problem like this. He was good with computers, but Babs was by far the best out of them all. Dick guessed it was his close relationship with the machine (or maybe just Damian) that caused Tim to reach out to him first. 

Dick was still working on getting the controls to come back up when he heard Tim swear, and then let out a solid string of words Dick wasn’t sure his brother even _knew_. 

“What?” he looked up.

Tim’s face was so washed out Dick thought he might see his brother’s veins, “It was just Damian in the car for a bit but...” he broke off, looking away from the screen. 

Dick looked up and let out his own string of swears. The display showed Bruce tucking a body, wrapped in his cape, in the back of the car. An arm wasn’t quite tucked in, clearly showing Dick’s uniform, black with a long blue stripe and two blue fingers on the glove.

He felt sick. Damian was trapped in a simulation where Dick himself had died. And from the look of Damian’s uniform it hadn’t been easy or kind. Dick swallowed, and tried to tamp down the tightness in his chest, and the desire to just tear Damian away from the simulation. 

“Okay, okay. We have time. It’s not the worst thing.” 

Tim scoffed, and Dick shot him a look. 

“It’s not. It could have killed us all and left Damian alone. Or forced him to kill one of us, or any number of things worse than my dying.” Dick couldn’t really think of many things Damian might see as worse than losing his old partner, but he had to keep up hope somehow. 

“We’re getting him out. Get Bruce in case I can’t make this stupid thing work. And tell Babs we might need her.” 

Dick didn’t wait for Tim to leave, instead turning back to the machine. By the time he heard footsteps again he’d managed to actually get the control screen back up and running. Getting it to respond to him was becoming a whole new problem. 

“How’s he doing?” Dick asked. 

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to waste a moment checking the screens, and he didn’t really want to see Damian’s grief displayed in front of him. He didn’t want to know exactly how Damian would react to losing him. 

“He’s at a funeral.” Bruce’s voice was a concerned rumble, “What’s the machine status?” 

The word funeral brought back Dick’s own memories of Damian’s sparking a flurry of what had to be bats in his stomach, pushing for escape, their little claws scratching at his stomach, looking for something to tear. 

“I got the panel up, but it’s not doing anything else.” 

“Let me see.” 

Dick was hesitant to move away from the machine, but Bruce had built the thing. Made from modified tech taken from Mad Hatter, with some of Bruce and Barbara’s own additions, it was an incredibly useful machine when it worked right. It was also something Bruce would be more familiar with than Dick, so he reluctantly stepped aside. 

Tim found his hand and squeezed it, “B’ll get it to work, right?”

Dick could only nod. 

It took Bruce two hours to call Barbara in. That meant Damian had been in there for almost four hours now, and he was not doing well at all. Longer simulations put users through dream like sequences, some of them lasting longer than others, and sometimes the thing would jump way ahead. Dick had watched Damian’s progress in broken moments, from an outburst at the funeral to the way he’d totally shut himself off afterwards. Dick’s heart had ached as he saw his brother throw himself into his investigation, and shrug off Bruce’s attempts at comfort. 

It was agonizing watching Damian struggle through his grief. The worst part was, Dick couldn't do anything. Bruce was hovering over the machine, and Tim had called Babs and passed it off to B, meaning Dick was left standing there, watching his brother fall deeper and deeper into the dream. 

When Babs arrived, she pushed her way through everyone, even Bruce. She didn’t greet them, or say much beyond, “Where are you at now?” 

“Error code 56, like I said on the phone.” Bruce said, irritated by being pushed away, “If you’ll let me...”

“Nope. He’s been in there way too long for arguing or any other nonsense. You should have called me the moment the system glitched.” Babs’s voice was cool, but Dick could pick up on the undercurrent of worry there. 

The only hesitation she’d showed coming in was when she’d paused to look at the screens for just a second. What she’d seen had her face set in even more serious a line than it had when she arrived. She was just as worried as the rest of them for the kid. 

The tension in the room felt like it could be cut with a knife. If Dick could move from his spot, he’d have gone to the practice mats and beat punching bag after punching bag just to relieve some of the terror bubbling up in his stomach. 

He didn’t move, he couldn’t leave Damian just sitting there, suffering the way he was. So Dick stood rooted to the ground, watching Babs work, eyes flitting up to the screen to watch Damian’s progress, and then back down to worry over the machine. 

“It’s going to be fine.” Tim said, after a while, putting a hand on Dick’s shoulder. 

That pressure felt like too much. Tim’s promise was hollow against the reality that nothing was fine, and Damian was suffering because of it. Hot anger surged to the surface and Dick threw Tim’s hand away.

“It needs to be!” he snapped, “He should never have been in there. What the hell were you two thinking using this thing without Bruce’s supervision? Why set it to worst case scenario? How could you--”

“Dick!” Tim’s shout wasn’t angry, just shaken. 

Dick’s mouth snapped shut in surprise as his little brother clasped his hands together, thumbs rubbing against each other anxiously. 

“I’m sorry. You’re right. It is all my fault. If I’d picked a different situation or been a little more careful or just called Babs earlier, but I didn’t and this is on me, I was just trying to--” Tim’s shoulders were shaking, his head dropped, and tears leaking down his cheeks, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

All of Dick’s sudden anger drained out of him in an instant. He pulled Tim into his chest, holding him tightly. 

“It’s alright. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled. You did everything you could.” Dick ran a hand up and down Tim’s back, “You’re right, he is going to be fine. I doubt Damian will even blame you for it.” 

Tim nodded into his chest. He stayed there for another minute before pulling away. They stood together for a few minutes before the screens changed, Damian was suiting up for some reason and sneaking out. 

He was going after the murderer, Dick realized. He’d watched his brother hold onto his hate against the man, watched him use that to piece himself together and not fall apart as time passed in the simulation. He could see the determination on Damian’s face now. The problem was, no matter how prepared his little brother thought he was, the odds were stacked against him. The simulation wasn’t designed to get better, just worse. 

Dick didn’t want to think about what might happen. Would Damian get caught? Would they have to stand here and watch the same person torture him too? Or would Damian act out in rage and grief and kill the person responsible? 

“Babs.” Dick said, voice tight, “Please tell me you’re getting somewhere.”

“Almost.” she said, pausing to look up at him, “What’s going on?” 

“Damian’s on the move, and things are about to escalate again.” 

She nodded and turned back to the machine, “We’ll get him out, Dick. I’m not leaving him in there.”

Dick moved to stand close to Damian, pulling up a limp hand to hold, “Just hold on a little longer, kiddo.” 

His eyes were glued to the screen as scenes jumped. Damian out looking, finding the man, pacing in the room, knife in his hand. 

“Babs.” Dick plead, “Please.”

He felt Bruce and Tim ease closer to him, all three of them looking up at the screen as Damian paced. Dick flinched when Damian stabbed the man, and sighed when it wasn’t a killing blow. He knew Damian wouldn’t do it, no matter how broken he was over Dick’s death, he’d grown too much to break his promise. 

Then Damian started screaming. There wasn’t really sound coming from the machine, but there didn’t need to be. Dick could see his baby brother falling apart on the screen, whole body wracked with screams. Outside, Damian’s hand jerked in Dick’s, his back arched in the chair. He shouldn’t be physically reacting like this. This was all wrong. 

“Babs!” Dick yelled. 

“I’m working on it!” she shouted back just as Damian, real, living breathing, Damian, started screaming.

“Shit.” Dick swore.

He grabbed the helmet on Damian’s head, fumbling in his panic to get the snaps keeping it in place off. The plastic slipped, and pinched his finger, electing another swear. Dick didn’t slow, even as his finger stung, he finally got the stupid thing undone,and tore the helmet from his kid brother’s head, before dragging him out of the chair and into his arms. Damian screamed for another moment then fell flat against Dick’s chest, his whole body shaking.

Dick reached out and tilted Damian’s face up to his, already trying to soothe the pain he knew his brother was dealing with, “It’s okay, you’re alright, you’re safe, kiddo.” 

Damian’s eyes were distant, blinking fast as his brain tried to catch up to reality, and make sense of what was going on. Dick swallowed back fear that somehow Damian might not come back from the simulation, that tearing him out like he had would break his brother’s mind. He’d known it was dangerous to pull someone out, but Dick couldn’t let him suffer any longer. 

“Damian, sweetheart, please, look at me.” Dick’s thumb brushed tear streaks off his cheeks, “Come back to me, Dames.” 

The little boy in his arms shuddered, tears welling in his eyes again. He let out a choked sob that started a series of hitched noises and streaming tears. Dick ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead, over and over as Damian seemed to settle into reality. 

His hands found Dick’s shirt and gripped it, pulling like it was his lifeline. He pressed his face into Dick’s chest, wetting it immediately with his tears, and began wailing. This sound loud and clear and real and utterly heartbreaking. 

“Shh.” Dick soothed, hand still running through his hair, “You’re alright,” then after some thought added, “I’m alright too.” 

This seemed to increase Damian’s distress, making the child wrap himself around Dick as best as he could, like that would stop all the horrible things he’d seen. Dick tightened his own hold on him. 

Damian stayed plastered to his chest for a moment before, very quietly saying, “Richard.” 

Dick almost missed his name, so pressed into his chest Damian was, and so quiet was the voice that said it, especially compared with how loud he’d been a moment before. 

“It’s alright.” Dick sighed, happy to hear his brother speaking. 

His happiness fell when Damian pushed himself away from Dick, and looked up at him with wide, broken eyes. The next instant Damian’s face fell into agony again and he was beating at Dick’s chest, little fists not hurting, but pounding over and over.

“He killed you!” Damian yelled, “He killed you! He killed you, he ki--” he broke off to cough, violently to the side, sobs still shaking his whole body. 

Dick took the momentary distraction to yank Damian into his chest again, and wrap his arms tightly around him, pressing his face into Damian’s hair and shushing him. 

“No.” Damian whined, pushing at him, “No please. I’m sorry.” 

That apology started another incomprehensible series of sorries. They flooded out of Damian in panicked waves, crashing over Dick like they were going to drown them both. Dick’s heart ached, he wanted to calm Damian down, but everything he’d tried had only riled the kid up more. 

The sorries trailed off into a single sniffled, “Sorry.” 

Damian was silent for a moment, before he tried to push away from Dick’s chest. Dick was so surprised by the action he let go. Damian scooted back, away from Dick and rubbed at his face with the back of his hand, looking for all the world like he was trying to pull himself together. 

He took a deep breath, and looked at Dick, his face set seriously, if red and splotchy from all the tears. Dick had no idea how to react to what was going on. He didn’t know what Damian was thinking. 

“I apologize.” the words were watery, like Damian was going to break down again at any second, “I know how much you would not like me to mourn you so long. I’ve got to let go.” 

Dick’s mouth dropped open. He looked up at Bruce, who was still standing there, having ushered Tim, Alfred, and Barbara back. His dad looked as confused as Dick was. 

“Damian,” Dick reached out to take his brother’s hands from where they were folded in his lap, “Look at me, I’m not dead.” 

Damian’s lip quivered. He seemed to be considering Dick’s words closer than he had before. His chest hitched and he flung himself into Dick’s chest again, arms wrapping around him for a moment before he pulled away again, panic washing across his face. 

“No.” he gasped, “No. You’re dead, he killed you. You aren’t here. I _can’t_.” 

Damian looked away from Dick, like he didn’t even want to allow himself to see him. 

“Sweetest.” Dick said, swallowing back his own tears as they surged to the surface. His brother sounded so broken, so sad, all over something not real. Dick wanted to rage at the world for such bad luck, but he couldn’t get angry right now. It would scare Damian worse, and do little good to calm him down.

“Please, believe me. I’m right here. I’m okay.” 

The words fell on hollow ears, Damian still wasn't’ looking at him. His shoulders were shaking slightly, lip quivering. Every so often he’d suck in air like there was something surprising about the cave, and then release the breath in a tight whine. 

He’d known pulling Damian out before they got the machine turned off was dangerous, but he didn’t think it would affect him like this. It was like Damian had somehow blended everything together. He’d accepted that he wasn’t in front of a murderer, but he couldn’t seem to shake the idea that Dick was dead. Dick just had to wait for Damian to come back to him, he realized. Give the kid time to figure things out for himself. If he tried to force the truth he might hurt his brother more. 

He glanced up at Bruce, “Why don’t you take everyone upstairs for a bit, I’ll call you when he calms down.” he said, voice quiet, “I think it’s going to take a while.” 

Damian sat in front of Dick, hands back in his lap, moving between staring into the cave, and having his eyes squeezed shut for longer than Dick thought possible. Every so often, Dick tried talking to him. He was rebuffed with silence each time. 

Dick shifted, his leg under him starting to fall asleep. That shift seemed enough to shock Damian into action. His attention snapped to Dick, eyes went wide, mouth opening in an O. Everything about his body said cat ready to pounce. 

“Don’t” Damian croaked, “Don’t leave.” 

He lunged for Dick again, burying his face in his chest, “Don’t go.” the words were muffled, “Please, don’t leave. Don’t leave me again. Please stay, Richard, please.” 

“I won’t.” Dick said, lifting Damian to settle in his lap, and cradling him close as his little brother sobbed, “I’ll never leave you again.” 

Damian curled into a ball against Dick, his hands grabbing so tightly at his shirt Dick could see the white of his knuckles. He shook with huge wracking sobs. Dick didn’t know if they were still tears of pain or relief or a mix in between. He wrapped around his little brother and let him cry until he’d exhausted himself, the sobbing tapering off to quiet sniffled tears with the occasional hiccup thrown in. 

It was around this time Bruce snuck back down to check on them. Dick waved him over with a tilt of his head, unwilling to let go of Damian even an inch. 

“How’s he doing?” Bruce whispered, hand finding Damian’s hair to brush back.

At his touch, Damian’s eyes fluttered open, and he turned his head slightly away from Dick’s chest to look up, green eyes watery and red, but curious. 

“He’s still having a rough time.” Dick murmured.

Bruce hummed, fingers carding through Damian’s hair again, “Good thing he’s got you.” 

Damian sat up at that, hands tangled in Dick’s shirt still, “What?” 

“I said, it’s a good thing you’ve got, Dick.” Bruce said, giving him a small smile. 

Dick gave him a smile as well, “And you’re not going to lose me again.” he promised. 

Those beautiful green eyes watered again, tears building up to spill over quietly, “You’re alive?” 

Even after all this time, Damian hadn’t quite believed it. Dick wanted to tug Damian even closer his chest hurt so bad for the kid. This was his fault. If he’d only waited a few minutes longer, let Babs do her work and when they’d gotten Damian out he would have been hurting, but not as badly as he was now. 

“He is.” Bruce assured him. 

Dick felt Damian finally relax into him. He could see the true exhaustion wash over him as Damian let go of his fear and grief, and let himself believe it was all a bad dream. One hand let go of Dick’s shirt to slip up and press against his heart, and Dick heard the smallest of sighs. 

“How?” Damian asked, he sounded immeasurably tired. 

Bruce brushed Damian’s hair again, “There was a short in the simulation you were running, it got stuck.” 

Dick squeezed him, “You were trapped in there for five hours. It was set on worst possible scenario and it just kept going.” 

Damian hiccuped against Dick’s chest, a small sob building as he thought about the worst scenario, “You died. I couldn’t save you.”

“Hey, don’t blame yourself. The game was rigged.” Dick said. 

Damian opened his mouth to argue and yawned instead. He rolled so he was a little closer to Dick, and not quite as tightly curled on himself. His eyes looked heavy, but Damian was blinking feverishly as if to ward off actual sleep. Dick had a feeling his brother wasn’t going to want to sleep for a long while. If it were him, he’d be afraid of waking up and this reprieve being the dream instead. 

Want to get him up and in a bed?” Bruce asked. 

“That’s probably a good idea.” Dick said, “How’re the others?” 

“Picking at the food Alfred made for them.” 

Dick hefted Damian up, keeping him cradled close as he stood, “What’d he make?”

Bruce described the dish, really just simple sandwiches, and as he did Dick’s stomach rumbled. He’d missed dinner rushing over after work. He bet Damian was hungry too. He’d been stuck only a few hours, but his mind had thought he’d been there a lot longer. 

He leaned his head down and pressed a kiss to Damian’s forehead, “You hungry?” 

Damian shrugged, and then his eyes widened as his stomach gurgled. Dick grinned. 

Bruce ruffled Damian’s hair again and said, “I’ll bring something down for you guys, and tell the others they can head down.” 

Dick nodded and carried Damian over to one of the cots. His brother started to panic when Dick went to lay him down, “No,” he pled, “Don’t go.”

“I’m not.” Dick promised, “Just getting you comfy, scootch a bit.” 

Damian scooted over and let Dick lay beside him. The moment Dick was settled, his brother plastered himself to his chest again. 

“You okay?” Dick asked, hand rubbing at Damian’s back. 

He nodded, and sniffled, hiccuping a bit, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he whispered. 

“You’ve got me as long as you want me. I’m not leaving any time soon.” 

Dick meant it. He wasn’t leaving Damian’s side for the near future. His kid had gone through more in five hours than anyone should. He’d lost him, and gotten Dick back in that amount of time. Dick was afraid he might have lingering flashbacks of the simulation, and he knew for a fact Damian would have nightmares after. It was up to him to make sure Damian recovered as best as possible, and the only way to do that was stick close. 

“Promise?” Damian asked.

“I promise.” Dick said. 


End file.
